The day wore on, and Dotty grew more and more reckless.
“I’ve a great mind to hold up my hand to-night,” thought she; but could not quite decide to do it. She was so busy debating the question that she hardly noticed when her spelling-class was called, and walked out behind Tate like one in a dream.
After the spelling, there came, as usual, the awful question,—
“How many have whispered to-day? All those who have not whispered may hold up their hands.”
Dotty saw Tate’s hand go up fearlessly, as it always did. Why not hers too?
“If I’m some bad, I might as well be all bad.”
Dotty gave one glance at Miss Parker’s red ear-rings, one glance of shame at her own boots, and then began to raise her left arm slowly, slowly, for something seemed to hold it down. It felt as heavy as an iron weight. She almost needed the other hand to help her draw it up. At the same time something knocked loudly at her heart, “Stop! stop! stop!”
But the arm got up at last, and nobody saw that it was as stiff as marble; it looked like the other arms that were raised, only it was in a sleeve that had a crimped ruffle round the wrist.