ways, her lovely face, and longed to kiss her cheek, and whisper,
"Forgive me."

"Mamma'll be just as patient with me," thought Dotty; "she always is! But
if I once get home, I'll never make her patient any more. I'll never run
away again; not unless she _asks_ me to--I won't."

The children, as fast as they finished their suppers, jumped up and ran
away from the table--all but Solly, who had some faint idea that it was
not polite to do so before company. He was a natural gentleman; and it
was unfortunate that just at this time his mother was obliged to send
him to Munjoy of an errand. Otherwise he would have made his sister give
up Dotty's hat, and perhaps would have walked home with the unhappy
child himself.

As it was, Dotty did not seem to have a friend in the world. It was now
so dark that she hardly dared look out of doors; but even in the
brightest daylight she could not have found her way home.

"You've got to stay all night," said Mandoline. "Isn't that splendid?"

Mandoline did not mean to be cruel. She had observed that her mother
urged her own guests to stay, and sometimes kept them almost by force.
This she supposed was true politeness. More than that, she was anxious,
for private reasons, to hold Dotty, so she might not have to knit so
much. She knew, too, that her mother was proud to have such a well-bred
little girl in the house. So she would not give up Dotty's hat.

At eight o'clock, Dotty went to bed with Mandoline in the unfinished
chamber, sorely against her will; and Mandoline told her such dreadful