It happened that the next day was stormy, so Tate could not wear her ruffled apron.
“It looks as if we were going to have a heavy snow-storm,” said Mrs. Parlin, looking out of the window. “Edward, is it best to let Alice go to school?”
“O, yes, I think so,” said Mr. Parlin, “you are not very tender—are you, chickie?”
Dotty had two little front pockets in her wrapper, and they were full of pop-corn.
“No, papa,” said she, “I’m ever so tough,” and went on sprinkling salt into her pockets from the salt-box with holes in the top. “No, papa, I want to go to school to-day very partic’lar. I wouldn’t stay at home if the snow came down as big as this pop-corn.”
So Dotty was put into a water-proof cloak, and went with her two sisters; no more afraid of the storm than a snow-bird wrapped in his feathers.
“You here? O, ho!” said Tate, putting her arm around Dotty; “they like to not let me come; but I told ’em you and I had some business.”
“That’s what I told my mother,” said Dotty; “now let’s go right up to Miss Parker, and ask her.”
“No, I dassent, Dotty Dimple, my heart beats so; let’s wait till noon.”