"You didn't ever know till just now there was any such girl as me, I s'pose."
"No, I never did."
"I live in the city of Portland," pursued Dotty, with a grand air, "and my papa and mamma, and two sisters, and a Quaker grandma (only you must say 'Friend') with a white handkerchief on. Have you any grandma like that?"
"No, my grandmother is dead."
"Why, there's two of mine alive, and one grandpa. Just as nice! They don't scold. They let you do everything. I wouldn't not have grandmothers and fathers for anything! But you can't help it. Did you ever have your house burnt up?"
"No, indeed."
"Well, ours did; the chambers, and the cellar, and the windows and doors. We hadn't any place to stay. My sister Susy! You ought to heard her cry! I lost the beautifulest tea-set; but I didn't say much about it."
"Where do you live now?"
"O, there was a man let us have another house. It isn't so handsome as our house was; for the man can't make things so nice as my father can. We live in it now. Can you play the piano?"
"No, not at all."