"She don't know I'm in the house this minute," thought Dotty; "no, under the house. Dear me!"
With that she walked softly up the stairs, and listened at the door-latch; for the sound of her grandmother's voice was encouraging, and Dotty, in her loneliness, longed to be near the dear people of the family, even if she could not see them.
"Edward," said her mother,—what music there was in her voice!—"if you are going after that dear child, you'd better take a shawl to wrap her in, for it is snowing fast. And be sure to tell her we love her dearly, every one of us, and don't believe she will ever run away again."
"O, was her papa going after her? Did they love her, after all? Were they willing to keep her in the house?"
Dotty opened the door before she knew it. "O, mamma, mamma!" cried she, rushing into her mother's arms.
"Why, Dotty, you darling child, where did you come from?" exclaimed Mrs. Parlin, in great surprise, kissing the little, dirty girl, and taking her right to her heart, in spite of the coal-dust.
"If you'll let me stay at home," gasped Dotty, "if you'll let me stay at home, I'll live in the kitchen, and won't go near the table."
"Where did you come from?" said Mr. Parlin, kissing a clean place on
Dotty's black face, and laughing under his breath.
"I came through the cellar window, papa."
"Through the cellar window, child?"