CHAPTER XI.
BOSOM FRIENDS.
Dotty did not go to school again until the next Monday. Miss Parker kissed her affectionately, and said, she should never forgive herself for her thoughtlessness; which was very gratifying to Dotty.
At recess Miss Parker called both the little girls up to her, and asked for the history of their “blowing away.” Dotty gave it with delight, and whenever her breath failed, Tate added a word of her own.
“If her nose hadn’t bled that time, Miss Parker, we were going to ask you something. Mayn’t we sit together? ’Cause Tate likes me, and she don’t like Dice Prosser; do you, Tate?”
“Not much,” replied Tate, timidly; “but I don’t hate her near so bad as you do Lina Rosenberg.”
“O, I don’t hate anybody,” said Dotty, virtuously; “only I asked my mother which she wanted me to sit with, and she said ‘Tate,’ if you’re perfectly willing, Miss Parker. Tate doesn’t betwitch me, and I’m not afraid to have her sit next to my pocket.”
“I have no objection to your changing your seats,” said Miss Parker, smiling; “but I wish you to remember, children, that I have a great deal of care, and if you love me you will try to be quiet.”
“So we will—won’t we, Tate?” said Dotty, joyfully, as they moved their books. “We’ll be better girls, ’cause, don’t you know, we were saved to purpose?”
Dotty was as good as her word. She could not always keep her little tongue still; but on the whole, she tried so hard to do right, that Miss Parker loved her better and better every day.