So one Wednesday afternoon, when Susy was away, Prudy called Dotty into the nursery, and shut the door.
"What you want me of?" asked the child.
"I want to tell you something nice. Don't you wish you knew your A, B, C's, darling? There, that's what it is."
Dotty shook her head three or four times, and looked down at the carpet.
"Why, Dotty Dimple, you oughtn't to do so. You must answer when a question is asked. Wouldn't you like to learn your letters, like a goody girl, so you can read the nice books? Now be polite, and speak."
"I don't want to be polite, and speak, nor I don't want to learn my letters, like a goody gell; so there!" replied Dotty, seizing the kitty, and wrapping her in a shawl.
"O, Dotty Dimple!" said Prudy, in a tone of deep distress; "how old you're getting to be! just think!"
"I'm four years old, and I weigh four pounds," answered Dotty, drawing out her little cab, and throwing the muffled kitty into it, as if she had been a roll of cloth.
"O, my stars, Dotty, I can't bear to have you talk so."
Dotty tucked in the kitty's tail, and drew the carriage about the room, to give "Pusheen" an airing. "Pusheen" was her kitty's name in Irish.