“Yes’m; I didn’t say a lie, but did a lie; did it with my hand.”
“What do you mean, Dotty?”
“I held it up, mamma, same’s to say, I never; but I did, and the alum hadn’t kept me from it; not a bit.”
The little girl was quivering all over with agitation.
“By and by, when you can talk better, you may tell me what you did with your hand, and what you mean by the alum.”
“O, dear, mamma! I’m all choked up, and can’t talk; but ’tisn’t my alum, ’cause that didn’t do a thing to my tongue. Norah gave me some as big as the end of a slate pencil; but it never did a thing to my tongue. I could talk as fast as I could speak. But I wouldn’t, and I didn’t; and then Tate made me most shake my neck off; till bimeby I didn’t care, and the teacher didn’t care either. It’s against the rule; but there she sits in the desk,—Miss Parker does,—and don’t hear anything, only when she’s hearing classes and things; and then never looks anywhere, only right at the Reader, and picks a place in her neck.”
“Don’t talk quite so fast, dear, and then I shall understand you better.”
“I said, mamma, she don’t see us break the rules, ’thout she’s walking up the aisle, or sometimes when she looks up quick out of a book. She says it’s against the rules to whisper; but we do, and she likes us just the same; only if we don’t put up our hand she don’t like us, and don’t praise us. I don’t want her a-praising me, not when I’ve been naughty—should you, mamma? But Tate does. Tate held up her hand, and I didn’t mean to; but the first thing I knew, I—I—”
“Why, Dotty!”