CHAPTER VII.
THE WICKED GIRL.
Flyaway had only been climbing the outside of the staircase, and would have done very well, if some one had not rung the door-bell, and startled her so that she fell from the very top stair to the floor. It was feared, at first, that several bones were broken and her intellect injured for life; but after crying fifteen minutes, she seemed to feel nearly as well as before.
"If ever a child was made of thistle-down it is Flyaway Clifford," said aunt Louise.
Still it was not thought best for her to fatigue herself that day by selling rags, and the wheelbarrow enterprise was put off until the next morning.
The person who rang the door-bell was Mrs. Vance's girl Susan, who called for Jennie to go home and try on a frock. Jennie did not return, and Dotty had a sense of uneasiness all day. The guilty secret of the three dollars weighed upon her mind. Should she, or should she not, tell her grandmother?
"I don't know but Jennie would do something to my things if I told," thought she; "but then I never promised a word. Here it is four o'clock. Who knows but she's gone and spent that money, and my grandmother never'll know what's 'come of it?"
This possibility was very alarming. "Jennie Vance doesn't seem to have any little whisper inside of her heart, that ticks like a watch; but I have. My conscience pricks; so I know that perhaps it's my duty to go and tell."
Dotty drew herself up virtuously and looked in the glass. There she seemed to see an angelic little girl, whose only wish was to do just right—a little girl as much purer than Jennie Vance, as a lily is purer than a very ugly toadstool.
Well, Miss Dotty, there is some truth in the picture. Jennie is not a good child; but neither are you an angel. There is more wickedness in your proud little heart than you will ever begin to find out. And wait a minute. Who teaches you all you know of right and wrong? Is it your mother? Suppose she had died, as did Jennie's mamma, when you were a toddling baby?