"Yes, sir," replied the child, earnestly; "you're a lawyer—my father says so. You wrote to him once."
"Did I? What did I write?"
"A letter."
"And where was the harm in that?"
"O, it looked like turkeys' tracks—he said it did. You wrote the letter with a fly. You dipped him in the inkstand, and stuck him on a pin, and wrote with him. My father says so."
"You surprise me, Dotty. I really don't remember it. Have you any other reason for not wishing me to be your uncle?"
"I wanted you to marry somebody else."
"Indeed! You ought to have mentioned it before! What young lady had you chosen for me, Miss Dimple?"
"Abby Grant, the little girl that went behind the tree and let me lose myself. I'd as lief she'd go to New York as not. If you'd only waited for her she'd have growed up."
By this time Mrs. Parlin, though somewhat amused by her little daughter's sharp speeches, thought it best to put an end to them by taking her away into a corner. She was too much inclined to pertness.