“I beg your pardon, my dear!”
Dotty thought she would give her father a proof that she could read.
“Papa,” said she, looking up from the newspaper, with quite a grown-up expression of face, “who is Scat?”
“Scat? What do you mean, Alice?”
“O, there’s a man in this paper called Scat, and it’s such a funny name, I wanted to know where he lived.”
Dotty passed the Press to her father, pointing to some votes in a recent election. “Jones 110, Fling 106, Scat. 45.” “Scat. does not mean any one in particular,” said Mr. Parlin, laughing; “it merely stands for ‘scattering.’”
“But it said Scat.,” returned Dotty, indignantly.
She had expected her father to express some surprise at her progress in reading. She would be careful next time, and choose a better newspaper; the Portland Press said one thing when it meant another.
Mrs. Parlin thought Dotty was not well enough to go to school that afternoon.