“I dare say you will learn so fast,” said she, “that you will make all these other little girls very much ashamed.”
Dotty looked up, and her eyes brightened. “You never went to school before, I believe.”
“No’m,” replied Dotty, briskly, her unusual bashfulness disappearing in a moment. “No’m, I never; only, when I was at grandpa Parlin’s, I went some days with Jennie Vance. My mamma used to let me read in her lap. You see she couldn’t make me stand up in a row, ’cause I wasn’t but one girl.”
The other children smiled. They thought this must be a very strange child, to talk so familiarly with the teacher.
“Prudy taught me my letters,” she went on: “A for ape, and B for bat—looked as if he had an umberella on him—and C for cat—a story for every one I learned. Prudy told real pretty stories, too. I can remember ’em now. But my mamma didn’t have much time to ’tend to my reading; so she said, after Christmas I must go to your school.”
Miss Parker pressed her lips together firmly—a habit she had when anything amused her. It was very clear to her mind that Miss Dimple did not understand the ways of a school-room. Dotty saw the other little girls looking at one another as if they were amused.
“They like to hear me talk,” thought she, throwing back her curly head. “I’ll talk some more.”
“Miss Parker, may I have a drink of water? ’Cause I’ve been eating snow; and when I eat snow it makes me thirsty. Jennie Vance used to carry a little bottle to school; but her teacher said she mustn’t.”
“Lina Rosenberg, it is your turn to read,” remarked Miss Parker. “We will have no more talking, if you please.”