So said her father; for at the table she sat gazing mournfully at a piece of sponge cake.
“I don’t know, papa. May I have a new slate? ’cause I’ve broke mine across the middle.”
Mrs. Parlin, as well as her husband, noticed Dotty’s sorrowful face; but she made no remark till she went up stairs to put the child to bed. Then she took her into her own chamber, and seating herself in a sewing-chair, before the fire, drew Dotty into her lap. Nothing was said; but the little girl understood the action very well.
“Yes’m, I did do wrong. How’d you know it, mamma?”
After this she hid her face, and the two sat in silence for several moments, Mrs. Parlin holding Dotty’s hand, and gently stroking it.
“Mamma, ’twas Tate Penny made me do it. Won’t you please to not let me sit with Tate?”
“What did she make you do?”
“Made me tell a ’normous story, big as a house.”
“You can’t mean a lie?”