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DOTTY DIMPLE STORIES

DOTTY DIMPLE AT PLAY

BY SOPHIE MAY

AUTHOR OF "LITTLE PRUDY STORIES"

1868

Illustrated

TO THE LITTLE "BLIND-EYED CHILDREN" IN THE ASYLUM FOR THE BLIND AT INDIANAPOLIS.

[Illustration: DOTTY AND KATIE VISITING THE BLIND GIRLS.]

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER

I. "THE BLIND-EYED CHILDREN"

II. EMILY'S TRIALS

III. PLAYING SHIP

IV. A SPOILED DINNER

V. PLAYING TRUANT

VI. A STRANGE VISIT

VII. PLAYING PRISONER

VIII. PLAYING THIEF

IX. THANKSGIVING DAY

X. GRANDMA'S OLD TIMES

XI. THE CRYSTAL WEDDING

DOTTY DIMPLE AT PLAY.

CHAPTER I.

"THE BLIND-EYED CHILDREN."

"You is goin' off, Dotty Dimpwil."

"Yes, dear, and you must kiss me."

"No, not now; you isn't gone yet. You's goin' nex' day after this day."

Miss Dimple and Horace exchanged glances, for they had an important secret between them.

"Dotty, does you want to hear me crow like Bantie? 'Cause," added Katie, with a pitying glance at her cousin, "'cause you can't bear me bimeby, when you didn't be to my house."

"That will do, you blessed little Topknot," cried Horace, as the shrill crowing died on the air, and the pink bud of a mouth took its own shape again. "Now I just mean to tell you something nice, for you might as well know it and be happy a day longer: mother and you and I are going to Indianapolis to-morrow with Dotty—going in the cars."

"O!" exclaimed the child, whirling about like a leaf in a breeze. "Going to 'Naplis, yidin' in the cars! O my shole!"

"Yes, and you'll be good all day—won't you, darling, and not hide mamma's spools?"

"Yes, I won't if I don't 'member. We for salt, salt, salt," sang Flyaway (meaning mi, fa, sol). Then she ran to the bureau, perched herself before it on an ottoman, and talked to herself in the glass.

"Now you be good gell all day, Katie Clifford—not dishbey your mamma, not hide her freds o' spools, say fank you please. O my shole!"

So Katie was made happy for twenty-four hours.

"After we sleep one more time," said she, "then we shall go."

She wished to sleep that "one more time" with Dotty; but her little head was so full of the journey that she aroused her bedfellow in the middle of the night, calling out,—

"We's goin' to 'Naplis,—we for salt, salt, salt,—yidin' in the cars,
Dotty Dimpwil."

It was some time before Dotty could come out of dreamland, and understand what Katie said.

"Won't you please to hush?" she whispered faintly, and turned away her face, for the new moon was shining into her eyes.

"Let's we get up," cried Katie, shaking her by the shoulders; "don't you see the sun's all corned up bwight?"

"O, that's nothing but just the moon, Katie Clifford."

"O ho! is um the moon? Who cutted im in two?" said Flyaway, and dropped to sleep again.

Dotty was really sorry to leave aunt Maria's pleasant house, and the charming novelties of Out West.

"Phebe," said she, with a quiver in her voice, when she received the tomato pincushion, "I like you just as well as if you wasn't black. And, Katinka, I like you just as well as if you wasn't Dutch. You can cook better things than Norah, if your hair isn't so nice."

This speech pleased Katinka so much that she patted the letter O's on each side of her head with great satisfaction, and was very sorry she had not made some chocolate cakes for Dotty to eat in the cars.

Uncle Henry did not like to part with his bright little niece. She had been so docile and affectionate during her visit, that he began to think her very lovely, and to wonder he had ever supposed she had a wayward temper.

The ride to Indianapolis was a very pleasant one. Katie thought she had the care of the whole party, and her little face was full of anxiety.

"Don't you tubble yourself, mamma," said She; "I'll look out the winner, and tell you when we get there."

"Don't let her fall out, Horace," said Mrs. Clifford; "I have a headache, and you must watch her."

"Has you got a headache, mamma? I's solly. Lean 'gainst ME, mamma."

Horace wished the conductor had been in that car, so he could have seen Miss Flyaway trying to prop her mother's head against her own morsel of a shoulder—about as secure a resting-place as a piece of thistle-down.

"When was it be dinner-time?" said she at last, growing very tired of so much care, and beginning to think "'Naplis" was a long way off.

But they arrived there at last, and found Mr. Parlin waiting for them at the depot. After they had all been refreshed by a nice dinner, and Flyaway had caught a nap, which took her about as long as it takes a fly to eat his breakfast, then Mr. Parlin suggested that they should visit the Blind Asylum.

"Is it where they make blinds?" asked Dotty.

"O, no," replied Mr. Parlin; "it is a school where blind children are taught."

"What is they when they is blind, uncle Eddard?"

"They don't see, my dear."

Flyaway shut her eyes, just to give herself an idea of their condition, and ran against Horace, who saved her from falling.

"I was velly blind, then, Hollis," said she, "and that's what is it."

"I don't see," queried Dotty,—"I don't see how people that can't see can see to read; so what's the use to go to school?"

"They read by the sense of feeling; the letters are raised," said Mr.
Parlin. "But here we are at the Institute."

They were in the pleasantest part of the city, standing before some beautiful grounds which occupied an entire square, and were enclosed by an iron fence. In front of the building grew trees and shrubs, and on each side was a play-ground for the children.

"Why, that house has windows," cried Dotty. "I don't see what people want of windows when they can't see."

"Nor me needer," echoed Katie. "What um wants winners, can't see out of?"

They went up a flight of stone steps, and were met at the door by a blind waiting-girl, who ushered them into the visitors' parlor.

"Is she blind-eyed?" whispered Flyaway, gazing at her earnestly. "Her eyes isn't shut up; where is the see gone to?"

Mrs. Clifford sent up her card, and the superintendent, who knew her well, came down to meet her. He was also "blind-eyed," but the children did not suspect it. They were much interested in the specimens of bead-work which were to be seen In the show-cases. Mr. Parlin bought some flowers, baskets, and other toys, to carry home to Susy and Prudy. Horace said,—

"These beads are strung on wires, and it would be easy enough to do that with one's eyes shut; but it always did puzzle me to see how blind people can tell one color from another with the ends of their fingers."

The superintendent smiled.

"That would be strange indeed if it were true," said he; "but it is a mistake. The colors are put into separate boxes, and that is the way the children distinguish them."

"I suppose they are much happier for being busy," said Mr. Parlin. "It is a beautiful thing that they can be made useful."

"So it is," said the superintendent. "I am blind myself, and I know how necessary employment is to MY happiness."

The children looked up at the noble face of the speaker with surprise.
Was he blind?

"Why does he wear glasses, then?" whispered Dotty. "Grandma wears 'em because she can see a little, and wants to see more."

The superintendent was amused. As he could not see, Dotty had unconsciously supposed his hearing must be rather dull; but, on the contrary, it was very quick, and he had caught every word.

"I suppose, my child," remarked he, playfully, "these spectacles of mine may be called the gravestones for my dead eyes."

Dotty did not understand this; but she was very sorry she had spoken so loud.

After looking at the show-cases as long as they liked, the visitors went across the hall into the little ones' school-room. This was a very pleasant place, furnished with nice desks; and at one end were book-cases containing "blind books" with raised letters. Horace soon discovered that the Old Testament was in six volumes, each volume as large as a family Bible.

In this cheerful room were twenty or thirty boys and girls. They looked very much like other children, only they did not appear to notice that any one was entering, and scarcely turned their heads as the door softly opened.

Dotty had a great many new thoughts. These unfortunate little ones were very neatly dressed, yet they had never seen themselves in the glass; and how did they know whether their hair was rough or smooth, or parted in the middle? How could they tell when they dropped grease-spots on those nice clothes?

"I don't see," thought Dotty, "how they know when to go to bed! O, dear! I should get up in the night and think 'twas morning; only I should s'pose 'twas night all the whole time, and not any stars either! When my father spoke to me, I should think it was my mother, and say, 'Yes'm.' And p'rhaps I should think Prudy was a beggar-man with a wig on. And never saw a flower nor a tree! O, dear!"

While she was musing in this way, and gazing about her with eager eyes which saw everything, the children were reading aloud from their odd-looking books. It was strange to see their small fingers fly so rapidly over the pages. Horace said it was "a touching sight."

"I wonder," went on Dotty to herself, "if they should tease God very hard, would he let their eyes come again? No, I s'pose not."

Then she reflected further that perhaps they were glad to be blind; she hoped so. The teacher now called out a class in geography, and began to ask questions.

"What can you tell me about the inhabitants of Utah?" said she.

"I know," spoke up a little boy with black hair, and eyes which would have been bright if the lids had not shut them out of sight,—"I know; Utah is inhabited by a religious INSECT called Mormons."

The superintendent and visitors knew that he meant sect and they laughed at the mistake; all but Dotty and Flyaway, who did not consider it funny at all. Flyaway was seated in a chair, busily engaged in picking dirt out of the heels of her boots with a pin.

Horace was much interested in the atlases and globes, upon the surface of which the land rose up higher than the water, and the deserts were powdered with sand. These blind children could travel all about the world with their fingers as well as he could with eyes and a pointer.

The teacher—a kind-looking young lady—was quite pleased when Mr. Parlin said to her,—

"I see very little difference between this and the Portland schools for small children."

She wished, and so did the teachers in the other three divisions, to have the pupils almost forget they were blind.

She allowed them to sing and recite poetry for the entertainment of their visitors. Some of them had very sweet voices, and Mrs. Clifford listened with tears. Their singing recalled to her mind the memory of beautiful things, as music always does; and then she remembered that through their whole lives these children must grope in darkness. She felt more sorrowful for them than they felt for themselves. These dear little souls, who would never see the sun, were very happy, and some of them really supposed it was delightful to be blind.

Their teacher desired them to come forward, if they chose, and repeat sentences of their own composing. Some things they said were very odd. One bright little girl remarked very gravely,—

"Happy are the blind, for they see no ghosts."

This made her companions all laugh. "Yes, that's true," thought Dotty. "If people should come in here with ever so many pumpkins and candles inside, these blind children wouldn't know it; they couldn't be frightened. I wonder where they ever heard of ghosts. There must have been some naughty girl here, like Angeline."

CHAPTER II.

EMILY'S TRIALS.

At three o'clock the little blind girls all went out to play in one yard, and the little blind boys in the other.

"Goin' out to take their air," said Katie. Then she and Dotty followed the girls in respectful silence.

Almost every one had a particular friend; and it was wonderful to see how certain any two friends were to find one another by the sense of feeling, and walk off together, arm in arm. It was strange, too, that they could move so fast without hitting things and falling down.

"When I am blindfolded," thought Dotty, "it makes me dizzy, and I don't know where I am. When I think anything isn't there, the next I know I come against it, and make my nose bleed."

She was not aware that while the most of these children were blind, there were others who had a little glimmering of eyesight. The world was night to some of them; to others, twilight.

They did not know Dotty and Katie were following them, and they chatted away as if they were quite by themselves.

"Emily, have you seen my Lilly Viola?" said one little girl to another. "Miss Percival has dressed her all over new with a red dressing-gown and a black hat."

The speaker was a lovely little girl with curly hair; but her eyes were closed, and Dotty wondered what made her talk of "seeing" a doll.

Emily took "Lilly Viola," and travelled all over her hat and dress and kid boots with her fingers.

"Yes, Octavia," said she, "she is very pretty—ever so much prettier than my Victoria Josephine."

Then both the little girls talked sweet nothings to their rag babies, just like any other little girls.

"Is the dollies blind-eyed, too?" asked Katie, making a dash forward, and peeping into the cloth face of a baby.

The little mamma, whose name was Octavia, smiled, and taking Katie by the shoulders, began to touch her all over with her fingers.

"Dear little thing!" said she; "what soft hair!"

"Yes," replied Katie; "velly soft. Don't you wish, though, you could see my new dress? It's got little blue yoses all over it."

[Illustration: DOTTY AND KATIE VISITING THE BLIND GIRLS.]

"I know your dress is pretty," said Octavia, gently, "and I know you are pretty, too, your voice is so sweet."

"Well, I eat canny," said Katie, "and that makes my voice sweet. I'se got 'most a hunnerd bushels o' canny to my house."

"Have you truly?" asked the children, gathering about Flyaway, and kissing her.

"Yes, and I'se got a sweet place in my neck, too; but my papa's kissed it all out o' me."

"Isn't she a darling?" said Octavia, with delight.

"Yes," answered Dotty, very glad to say a word to such remarkable children as these; "yes, she is a darling; and she has on a white dress with blue spots, and a hat trimmed with blue; and her hair is straw color. They call her Flyaway, because she can't keep still a minute."

"Yes, I does; I keeps still two, free, five, all the minutes," cried Katie; and to prove it, she flew across the yard, and began to pry into one of the play-houses.

"She doesn't mean to be naughty; you must scuse her," spoke up Dotty, very loud; for she still held unconsciously to the idea that blind people must have dull ears. "She is a nice baby; but I s'pose you don't know there are some play-houses in this yard, and she'll get into mischief if I don't watch her."

"Why, all these play-houses are ours," said little curly-haired Emily; "whose did you think they were?"

"Yours?" asked Dotty, in surprise; "can you play?"

Emily laughed merrily.

"Why not? Did you think we were sick?"

Dotty did not answer.

"I am Mrs. Holiday," added Emily; "that is, I generally am; but sometimes I'm Jane. Didn't you ever read Rollo on the Atlantic?"

Dotty, who could only stammer over the First Reader at her mother's knee, was obliged to confess that she had never made Rollo's acquaintance.

"We have books read to us," said Emily. "In the work-hour we go into the sitting-room, and there we sit with the bead-boxes in our laps, making baskets, and then our teacher reads to us out of a book, or tells us a story."

"That is very nice," said Dotty; "people don't read to me much."

"No, of course not, because you can see. People are kinder to blind children—didn't you know it? I'm glad I had my eyes put out, for if they hadn't been put out I shouldn't have come here."

"Where should you have gone, then?"

"I shouldn't have gone anywhere; I should just have staid at home."

"Don't you like to stay at home?"

Emily shrugged her shoulders.

"My paw killed a man."

"I don't know what a paw is," said Dotty.

"O, Flyaway Clifford, you've broken a teapot!"

"No matter," said Emily, kindly; "'twas made out of a gone-to-seed poppy.
Don't you know what a paw is? Why, it's a paw"

In spite of this clear explanation, Dotty did not understand any better than before.

"It was the man that married my maw, only maw died, and then there was another one, and she scolded and shook me."

"O, I s'pose you mean a father 'n mother; now I know."

"I want to tell you," pursued Emily, who loved to talk to strangers. "She didn't care if I was blind; she used to shake me just the same. And my paw had fits."

The other children, who had often heard this story, did not listen to it with great interest, but went on with their various plays, leaving Emily and Dotty standing together before Emily's baby-house.

"Yes, my paw had fits. I knew when they were coming, for I could smell them in the bottle."

"Fits in a bottle!"

"It was something he drank out of a bottle that made him have the fits.
You are so little that you couldn't understand. And then he was cross.
And once he killed a man; but he didn't go to."

"Then he was guilty," said Dotty, in a solemn tone. "Did they take him to the court-house and hang him?"

"No, of course they wouldn't hang him. They said it was the third degree, and they sent him to the State's Prison."

"O, is your father in the State's Prison?"

Dotty thought if her father were in such, a dreadful place, and she herself were blind, she should not wish to live; but here was Emily looking just as happy as anybody else. Indeed, the little girl was rather proud of being the daughter of such a wicked man. She had been pitied so much for her misfortunes that she had come to regard herself as quite a remarkable person. She could not see the horror in Dotty's face, but she could detect it in her voice; so she went on, well satisfied.

"There isn't any other little girl in this school that has had so much trouble as I have. A lady told me it was because God wanted to make a good woman of me, and that was why it was."

"Does it make people good to have trouble?" asked Dotty, trying to remember what dreadful trials had happened to herself. "Our house was burnt all up, and I felt dreadfully. I lost a tea-set, too, with gold rims. I didn't know I was any better for that."

"O, you see, it isn't very awful to have a house burnt up," said Emily; "not half so awful as it is to have your eyes put out."

"But then, Emily, I've been sick, and had the sore throat, and almost drowned—and—and—the whooping-cough when I was a baby."

"What is your name?" asked Emily; "and how old are you?"

"My name is Alice Parlin, and I am six years old."

"Why, I am nine; and see—your head! only comes under my chin."

"Of course it doesn't," replied Dotty, with some spirit. "I wouldn't be as tall as you are for anything, and me only six—going on seven."

"I suppose your paw is rich, and good to you, and you have everything you want—don't you, Alice?"

"No, my father isn't rich at all, Emily, and I don't have many things—no, indeed," replied Miss Dimple, with a desire to plume herself on her poverty and privations. "My aunt 'Ria has two girls, but we don't, only our Norah; and mother never lets me put any nightly-blue sirreup on my hangerjif 'cept Sundays. I think we're pretty poor."

Dotty meant all she said. She had now become a traveller; had seen a great many elegant things; and when she thought of her home in Portland, it seemed to her plainer and less attractive than it had ever seemed before.

"I don't know what you would think," said Emily, counting over her trials on her fingers as if they had been so many diamond rings, "if you didn't have anything to eat but brown bread and molasses. I guess you'd think that was pretty poor! And got the molasses all over your face, because you couldn't see to put it in your mouth. And had that woman shake you every time you spoke. And your paw in State's Prison because he killed a man. O, no," repeated she, with triumph, "there isn't any other little girl in this school that's had so much trouble as I have."

"No, I s'pose not," responded Dotty, giving up the attempt to compare trials with such a wretched being; "but then I may be blind, some time, too. P'rhaps a chicken will pick my eyes out. A cross hen flew right up and did so to a boy."

Emily paid no attention to this foolish remark.

"My paw writes me letters," said she. "Here is one in my pocket; would you like to read it?"

Dotty took the letter, which was badly written and worse spelled.

"Can you read it?" asked Emily, after Dotty had turned it over for some moments in silence.

"No, I cannot," replied Dotty, very much ashamed; "but I'm going to school by and by, and then I shall learn everything."

"O, no matter if you can't read it to me; my teacher has read it ever so many times. At the end of it, it says, 'Your unhappy and unfortunate paw.' That is what he always says at the end of all his letters; and he wants me to go to the prison to see him."

"Why, you couldn't see him."

"No," replied Emily, not understanding that Dotty referred to her blindness; "no, I couldn't see him. The superintendent Wouldn't let me go; he says it's no place for little girls."

"I shouldn't think it was," said Dotty, looking around for Flyaway, who was riding in a lady's chair made by two admiring little girls.

"There was one thing I didn't tell," said Emily, who felt obliged to pour her whole history into her new friend's ears; "I was sick last spring, and had a fever. If it had been scarlet fever I should have died; but it was imitation of scarlet fever, and I got well."

"I'm glad you got well," said Dotty, rather tired of Emily's troubles; "but don't you want to play with the other girls? I do."

"Yes; let us play Rollo on the Ocean," cried Octavia, who was Emily's bosom friend, and was seldom away from her long at a time, but had just now been devoting herself to Katie. "Here is the ship. All aboard!"

CHAPTER III.

PLAYING SHIP.

Now this ship was an old wagon-body, and had never been in water deeper than a mud puddle. A dozen little girls climbed in with great bustle and confusion, pretending they were walking a plank and climbing up some steps. After they were fairly on board they waved their handkerchiefs for a good by to their friends on shore. Then Octavia fired peas out of a little popgun twice, and this was meant as a long farewell to the land. Now they were fairly out on the ocean, and began to rock back and forth, as if tossed by a heavy sea.

"See how the waves rise!" said Emily, and threw up her hands with an undulating motion. "I can see them," she cried, an intent look coming into her closed eyes; "they are green, with white bubbles like soap suds. And the sun shines on them so! O, 'tis as beautiful as flowers!"

"Booful as flowers!" echoed Flyaway, who was one of the passengers; while
Dotty wondered how Octavia knew the difference between green and white.
She did not know; and what sort of a picture she painted in her mind of
the mysterious sea I am sure I cannot tell.

"Now," said Miriam Lake, the prettiest of the children, "it is time to strike the bells."

So she struck a tea-bell with a stick eight times.

"That is eight bells," explained she to Dotty, "and it means four o'clock. But, Jennie Holiday, where is the kitten? Why, we are not half ready."

The children never thought they could play "ship" without a kitten, a gray and white one which they put into a cage just as Jennie Holiday did, when she and Rollo travelled by themselves from New York to Liverpool. When the kitten had been brought, they had got as far as Long Island Sound, and they said the kitten was sent by a ship of war which had to be "spoken."

"This is a funny way to play," said Miriam. "Here we are at Halifax, and nobody has heaved the log yet."

"No," said Octavia; "so we can't tell how many knots an hour we are going."

"I'm going a great many knocks," cried Katie, whose exertions in rocking from side to side had thrown her overboard once.

"We never'll get to Liverpool in this world," said Emily, "unless Miss
Percival comes and steers the ship."

It happened at that very moment that Miss Percival came into the yard with aunt Maria.

"If you will excuse me, Mrs. Clifford," said she, laughing, "I will take command of this ship."

"No apologies are necessary," replied Mrs. Clifford. "I should be very glad to watch your proceedings. Is it possible, Miss Percival, that you are capable of guiding a vessel across the Atlantic?"

"I have often tried it," said Miss Percival, going on board; "but we sometimes have a shipwreck."

"Emily," said she, "you may heave the log." So Emily rose, and taking a large spool of crochet-cotton which Miss Percival gave her, held it above her head, turning it slowly, till a tatting shuttle, which was fastened at the end of the thread, fell to the ground. This was supposed to be the "log;" and Octavia, with one or two other girls, pretended to tug with much force in order to draw it in, for the ship was going so fast that the friction against the cord was very great. Knots had been made in the cotton, over which Emily ran her quick fingers.

"Ten knots an hour," said she.

"Very good speed," returned the captain. "I do not think we shall be able to take an observation to-day, as it is rather cloudy."

Sailors "take observations" at noon, if the sun is out, by means of a sextant, with which they measure the distance from the sun to the southern horizon. In this way the captain can tell the exact latitude of the ship; but Miss Percival made believe there was a storm coming up; so it was not possible to take an observation.

"It is two bells," said she: "the wind is out; there will be a fearful storm. I would advise the passengers to turn into their berths."

The children lay down upon the floor. "There, there," said Miriam Lake, who was playing Jennie Holiday; "my poor little kitty is just as seasick! Her head keeps going round and round."

"My head has did it too," chimed in Katie, rolling herself into a ball; "it keeps yocking yound and yound."

"I pitch about so in my berth," said Octavia, who was Rollo, "that next thing I shall be out on the floor. Hark! How the water is pouring in! I'm afraid the ship has sprung a leak; and if it has I must call the chambermaid."

Mrs. Clifford, who stood looking on, was quite amused at the idea of calling the chambermaid to stop a leak in the ship.

"Man the pumps!" said the captain. The girls tugged away at a pole in one end of the wagon, moving it up and down like a churn-dash.

"I do hope this wind will go down," sighed Emily.

"Well, it will," said simple Flyaway; "I hear it going."

"It is head wind and a heavy sea," remarked the captain; "but never fear; we shall weather the storm. We are now on the southern coast of Ireland. I don't think," added she, in a different tone, "it is best to be shipwrecked, children—do you? We will hurry into Liverpool, and then I think it likely your little visitors may enjoy keeping house with your dolls, or having a nice swing."

"I wish I could eat something," said Dotty, with a solemn face; "but I'm too sick."

"So'm I," groaned Flyaway. "I couldn't eat noffin'—'cept cake."

"If you are in such a condition as that," said the captain, "it is certainly high time we landed. And here comes a pilot boat with a signal flying. We will take the pilot on board," added she; drawing in another little girl. "And look! here we are now in Liverpool."

"We must go to the Adelphi," said Octavia; "that is where Rollo went, and found his father, and mother, and Thannie. But the kitten didn't ever get there—did it, Miss Percival?"

The voyage being ended, and with it the fearful seasickness, the children went to swinging, with their teacher to push them.

"Miss Percival," said aunt Maria, shaking hands with that excellent young lady, "I wish you joy of your noble employment. It is a blessed thing to be able to give so much pleasure to these dear little children."

"So it seems to me," replied Miss Percival. "They are always grateful, too, for every little kindness."

"They look very good and obedient," said Mrs. Clifford, in a low voice.

"So they are. Sometimes I think they are better than children who have eyes; perhaps because they cannot see to get into so much mischief," added Miss Percival, pinching Emily's cheek.

"Aunt 'Ria," said Dotty, in raptures, "don't they have good times here?"

"Yelly good times," said little Flyaway, clutching at her mother's dress.
"Mamma, I wish I was blind-eyed, too."

"You, my darling baby! Mother hopes that will never be. But if you cannot be blind-eyed yourself, perhaps you may make some of these little ones happy. Is there anything you would like to give away?"

Flyaway winked slowly, trying to think what she had at home that she no longer wished to keep.

"Yes, mamma," said she at last, with a smile of satisfaction, "I've got a old hat."

"O, fie, Katie! I dare say you would be very glad to part with that, for I remember you cried the other day when I asked you to wear it. Your old hat would not be a pretty present."

"Then I can't fink of noffin' else," said Katie, shaking her head; at the same time having a guilty recollection of several beautiful toys, and "'most a hunnerd bushels of canny;" that is to say, a small box of confectionery her uncle Edward had given her.

Mrs. Clifford had observed of late that her little daughter was not as generous as she could wish. Both Katie and Dotty were peculiarly liable to become selfish, as they were much petted at home, and had no younger brothers or sisters with whom to share their treasures. Mrs. Clifford did not insist upon Katie's making any sacrifice. The little one did not pity the blind children at all. They seemed so happy that she almost envied them. So did Miss Dimple. It was not, after all, very grievous to be blind, she thought, if one could live at this Institute and have such nice plays.

"Aunt 'Ria thinks I ought to give them something, I s'pose. When I get home I mean to ask mamma and grandma to dress a beautiful doll, and I'll send it to Emily. She'll keep it to remember me by; and it won't cost any of my money if papa buys the head."

"Good by, Emily," said she, as she parted from her. "I hope there won't any more bad things happen to you."

"But I s'pose there will," replied Emily, cheerfully.

Mr. Parlin and Horace were waiting in the hall, and the latter was impatiently watching the tall clock. They had been in the greenhouse, looking at the flowers, and in the shop, where the blind boys learn to make brooms and brushes.

"Well, ladies, are you ready to go?" asked Mr. Parlin, taking Flyaway by the hand.

"Yes, we ladies is ready," replied she. So this was the end of their visit at the Institute.

After they had gone away, the little blind girls said to one another,—

"What nice children those are! Which is the prettiest, Alice or Katie?"

For they always spoke of people and things exactly as if they could see them.

CHAPTER IV.

A SPOILED DINNER.

Next morning, Dotty Dimple and her father started for Maine. Flyaway did not like this at all. Her cousin had been so pleasant and so entertaining that she wished to keep her always.

"What for you can't stay, Dotty Dimpwil?"

"O," said Dotty, tearing herself away from the little clinging arms, "I must go home and get ready for Christmas."

"No, you musser," persisted Katie; "we've got a Santa Claw in our chimley; you musser go home."

"It isn't for Santa Claus at all, darling it is for my papa and mamma's wedding. To stand up, so they can be married over again. Now kiss me, and let me go."

"Her's goin' home to Kismus pie," remarked Katie, as she took her mournful way with her mamma to the house where they were visiting. She did not know what a wedding might be, but was sure it had pies in it.

"There goes a right smart little girl," said Horace, with a sweep of his thumb towards the Cleveland cars. "If it wasn't for Prudy, I should like her better than any other cousin I have in the world."

"She is an engaging child," replied his mother, "and really seems to be outgrowing her naughty ways."

Thus, you see, Dotty Dimple, in coming away from Indiana, had left in the minds of her friends only "golden opinions." Perhaps she was rather overrated. Everything had gone well with her during her visit; why should she not be pleasant and happy? I am inclined to think there was the same old naughtiness in her heart, only just now it was asleep. We shall see.

Nothing remarkable occurred on the homeward journey, except that Mr. Parlin bought some gold-fishes in Boston, and carried them home as a present to Mrs. Read. They travelled one night in a sleeping-car, and by that means reached Portland a day earlier than they were expected.

Dotty hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry for this. There was a great deal to be said on both sides of the question. She had anticipated the pleasure of being met at the depot by Susy and Prudy, and now that was not to be thought of; but it would be delightful to give the family a surprise. On the whole, she was very well satisfied.

As they drove up to the new home, however, what was their astonishment to find it closed! There was not even a window open, or any other sign that the house was inhabited. Dotty ran to every door, and shook it.

"Why, papa, papa, do you s'pose there's anybody dead?"

"The probability is, Alice, that they have gone away. I will run over to
Mrs. Prosser's, and see if she knows anything about it."

Mrs. Prosser was the nearest neighbor on the left. Her little daughter came to the door in tears, having hurt herself against a trunk in the hall.

"Miss Carrie," said Mr. Parlin, "can you tell me where Mrs. Parlin and the rest of the family are gone?"

"Yes, Caddy Prosser, the house is shut up," added Dotty, "and I'm afraid they're dead."

"I don't know where they're gone, nor anything," sobbed Carrie. "I didn't know the trunk was in the entry, and I came so fast I fell right over it."

"I am very sorry you are hurt," said Mr. Parlin. "Is your mother at home?"

"No, sir, she isn't; her trunk came, but she didn't."

There was no information to be obtained at the Prossers'; so Mr. Parlin went to Mr. Lawrence's, the nearest neighbor on the right, making the same inquiries; but all he learned was, that a carriage had been seen standing at Mr. Parlin's door; who had gone away in it nobody could tell.

Dotty paced the pavement with restless steps, her mind agitated by a thousand wild fancies: Grandma Read never went anywhere; perhaps she was locked up in the house, and Zip too. Norah was at Cape Elizabeth; she had walked out to see her friend Bridget, the girl with red hair; and, just as likely as not, she didn't ever mean to come back again. Mother, and Susy, and Prudy had gone to Willowbrook, to grandpa Parlin's—of course they had,—and left grandma Bead all alone in the house, with nothing to eat. How strange! How unkind!

"Grandma!" she called out under Mrs. Read's window.

There was no answer. Dotty fancied the white curtain moved just a little; but that was because a fly was balancing himself on its folds. Grandma was not there, or, if she was, she must be very sound asleep. O, dear, dear! And here were Dotty and her father come home a day earlier than they were expected; and instead of giving the family a joyful surprise, they had a surprise themselves, only not a joyful one, by any means. How impolite it was in everybody, how unkind, to go away! At first, Dotty had been alarmed; but now her indignation got the better of her fears. When she did see Prudy again,—the sister who pretended to love her so much,—she wouldn't take the presents out of her trunk for ever so long, just to tease the naughty girl!

Meanwhile her father did not appear to be at all disturbed.

"Perhaps they have gone to the Islands, or somewhere else not far away, to spend the day. It is now nearly two o'clock. You may go to the Preble House with me, and take-your dinner, and then I will unlock the house, and find some one to stay with you till night. Would you like that? Or would you prefer to go at once to your aunt Eastman's? You may have your choice."

Dotty reflected about half a minute. "I will go to aunt Eastman's, if you please, papa."

This appeared to her decidedly the most dignified course. She would go to aunt Eastman's, and she would not be in the least haste about coming back again. She would teach her sisters, especially Prudy, that it is best to be hospitable towards one's friends when they have been away on a long journey. Her anger may seem very absurd; but you must remember, little friends, that Dotty Dimple had now become a travelled young lady; she had seen the world, and her self-esteem had grown every day she had been away. Her heart was all aglow with love towards the dear ones at home, and it was very chilling to find the door locked in her face. She did not stop to reflect that no unkindness had been intended.

As they drove to aunt Eastman's, her father observed that her bright little face was very downcast, but supposed her sadness arose from the disappointment. There are depths of foolishness in children's hearts which even their parents cannot fathom.

Strange to say, neither Mr. Parlin nor Dotty had thought that the family might be visiting at Mr. Eastman's; but such was the case. It was Johnny's birthday, and his father had sent the carriage into the city that morning for Mrs. Parlin, grandma Read, and the children. As for Norah, Dotty was right with regard to her; she had walked out to the Cape to see the auburn-haired Bridget.

"I'm glad Johnny was born to-day instead of to-morrow," said Prudy, "for to-morrow we wouldn't go out of the house for anything, auntie."

"I can seem to see cousin Dimple," said Percy; "she'll carry her head higher than ever."

Prudy cast upon the youth as strong a look of disapproval as her gentle face could express.

"Percy, you mustn't talk so about Dotty. She is my sister. She isn't so very proud; but if I was as handsome as she is, I should be proud too."

"O, no; she is very meek—Dimple is; just like a little lamb. Don't you remember that verse she used to repeat?—

'But, chillens, you should never let
Your naughty ankles rise;
Your little hands were never made
To tear each uzzer's eyes—out.'"

"If she's cross, it's because you and Johnny tease her so," said Prudy.
"I think it's a shame."

Percy only laughed. He and Prudy were sitting in the doorway, arranging bouquets for the dinner-table. Susy joined them, bearing in her hands some dahlias and tuberoses.

"Why, Prudy," said she, "what makes your face all aflame?"

"She has been fighting for your little dove of a sister," replied Percy; "the one that went West to finish her education."

This speech only deepened the color in Prudy's face, though she tried hard to subdue her anger, and closed her lips with the firm resolve not to open them again till she could speak pleasantly.

"Look!" exclaimed Percy; "there's a carriage turning the corner. Why, it's Dimple herself and uncle Edward!"

"It can't be!"

"It is!"

Both little girls ran to the gate.

"O, father! O, Dotty! Why, when did you get home?"

By this time Mrs. Parlin had come out: also Mrs. Eastman and Johnny.
Everybody was as surprised and delighted as possible; and even Miss
Dimple, sitting in state in the coach, was perfectly satisfied, and
condescended to alight, instead of riding through the carriage gateway.

"O, Dotty Dimple, I'm so glad to see you!" cried Prudy.

"It is my sister Alice,
And she is grown so dear, so dear,
That I would be the jewel
That trembles at her ear,—

only you don't wear ear-rings, you know."

"Are you glad to see me, though, Prudy? Then what made you go off and shut the house up?"

"O, we didn't expect you till to-morrow; and it's Johnny's birthday.
Dinner is almost ready; aren't you glad? Such a dinner, too!"

"Any bill of fare?" asked Dotty, with a sudden recollection of past grandeur.

"A bill of fare? O, no; those are for hotels. But there's almost everything else. Now you can go up stairs with me, and wash your face."

Dotty appeared at table with smooth hair and a fresh ruffle which Prudy had basted in the neck of her dress. She looked very neat and prim, and, as Percy had predicted, carried her head higher than ever.

"I suppose," said aunt Eastman, "you will have a great many wonderful things to tell us, Dotty, for I am sure you travelled with your eyes open."

"Yes'm; I hardly ever went to sleep in the cars. But when you said 'eyes,' auntie, it made me think of the blind children. We went to the 'Sylum to see them."

"How do they look?" asked Johnny.

"They don't look at all; they are blind."

"Astonishing! I'd open my eyes if I were they."

"Why, Percy, they are blind—stone-blind!"

"How is that? How blind is a stone?"

Dotty busied herself with her turkey. Her Eastman cousins all had a way of rendering her very uncomfortable. They made remarks which were intended to be witty, but were only pert. They were not really kind-hearted, or they would have been more thoughtful of the feelings of others.