"I am several years younger than your papa, my dear; so you think it strange to see me bald; but I have had two dreadful fevers, and they have run away with every bit of my hair."
Dotty would not even look up to see Major Lazelle replace his wig. Her dignity had been wounded.
"Come, sit on my knee, Pussy, and let me tell you some more about it."
"No, I thank you, sir," replied she, walking the floor with the air of an injured princess. "No, I thank you, sir."
"How, now, little one? You don't mean to be angry with me for a little joke?"
"No, I thank you."
And that was all Dotty would say. She was wise enough to know she was too angry to speak.
"Ah, ha! temper, I see!" thought Major Lazelle; "I did not suspect it from that quarter."
If the young gentleman had only known how hard the little girl was struggling just then to control herself, he would have liked her better than ever.
Her father chided her next morning for taking a joke so seriously. Dotty replied with a deep sigh,—