"Here is your silver dollar, Patty, in my pocket."
Patty fancied that her mother's voice was rather cold. She had expected a few words of praise, or at least a kiss and a smile.
"But think a minute, Patience. Are you sure you want to give it away?"
Patty put her fingers in her mouth, and eyed the dollar longingly. How large, and round, and bright it looked!
"I thought I heard you speak yesterday of buying Dorcas a vandyke,—or was it Mary?—and the day before of getting some shoe-buckles for Moses," added Mrs. Lyman, in the same quiet tones. "And only this morning your mind was running on a jockey for yourself. Whatever you please, dear. Take time to think."
"O, I'd ravver have a jockey. I forgot that—a white one."
"And what will become of the poor little girl?"
"O, I guess Dorcas will give her some remmernants to eat, and folks all around will see to her, you know."
"My child, my child, you don't think as you did when those ladies were here. Do you remember your last Sunday's verse, and what I said about it then?"
Mrs. Lyman's voice was very grave.