"I think," said her grandmother, "it will be the safest way to give her some castor-oil and molasses; that is what her father used to take when he was a little boy."
Dotty pouted. "Dirty, slippy castor-oil," she cried, shaking her elbows—a thing she seldom did now. "I shan't let it go in my throat. I'll bite my teeth togedder tight."
"Alice," said her grandmother, "is that the proper way to speak to me?"
The child's face cleared in a moment.
"I wasn't a-speakin' to you, grandma," said she, sweetly; "I was a talkin' to the dust-pan."
"O, Dotty Parlin!" cried Prudy, much distressed. "Nobody ever talked to the dust-pan, in all the days of their lives! I always thought you were a good girl, Dotty, but now I am afraid you tell false fibs!"
Dotty clung about Prudy like a sweet pea, and peeped into her eyes with a pleading look.
"Say, do you love me, Prudy? For I'm goin' to let the oil slip right down my throat, just as my papa did when he was a little boy."
After swallowing the oil and molasses, Dotty grew very affectionate, and kissed everybody twice, all around. Then she said her prayers, and went to bed.
"Mamma," said she, "now smoove me up under my chin, please." She loved to have the sheet laid straight. "Do you s'pose God will take care o' me to-night, mamma?"