"There, Prudy," said she, pertly; "what made you let me do it for? You said I'd tear it!"
Mrs. Harlow hastened supper, fearing that Mrs. Parlin might be anxious about her little daughter. Dotty was placed between her two sisters. Susy pinned a napkin about the child's neck, and in a whisper begged to be allowed to spread her bread and butter for her. Dotty had worn the air of a princess royal all the afternoon; but now, seated in a high chair, and surrounded by a group of admiring little girls, she felt like a crowned queen. Taking her bread in both hands, she crumbed it into her goblet of milk, and began to dip it out with the handle of her fork. The girls looked on and smiled, and Dotty gave a little purr of satisfaction.
"Everybody'll think mother doesn't teach her good manners," thought poor Susy, hardly knowing whether she ate bread or ashes.
"Dear, dear," said Prudy to herself; "Dotty may die some time, and then I should be sorry, and cry. I'll keep thinking of that, so I can bear her awful actions better."
The little princess, from her throne in the high chair, did very rude things; such as coughing and blowing crumbs into her plate, drumming with her feet, and beating time with her fork and spoon. When bread was offered, she said,—
"I don't like baker's bread. I like daily bread."
But this was all the remark she made during the whole meal. At last she ceased eating, coughing, and drumming: there was a "flash of silence."
Everybody looked up. Dotty's eyes were closed, and her head was swaying from side to side, like a heavy apple stuck on a knitting needle—she was fast asleep.
She was wheeled home in a small carriage, followed by a guard of all the girls. Next day she was duly punished by being tied to the bedpost with the clothes-line.
"I wish her reasons would begin to grow," sighed Prudy. "I never can feel happy when Dotty gets into a fuss."