"I don't care anything about your _locker_ beer, Lina Rosenberg, nor your
whiskey and tobacco pipes, either. Nor neither, nor nothing," added the
desolate child, standing "stock still," with the back of her head against
a pile of bricks, her eyes closed, and her hands folded across her bosom.

"There, there; you're a pretty sight now, Dotty Dimple! What if you
should freeze so! Come along and behave."

"I can't, I can't!"

"If you don't, Dotty, I'll have to go into that barber's shop. I know the
man, and I'll make him carry you home _piggerback_"

"Well, if I've got to go, I'll go," said Dotty, rousing herself,
and starting; "but I'd rather be dead, over'n over; and wish I was;
so there!"




CHAPTER VIII.

PLAYING THIEF.


This day was the longest one to be found in the almanac; it was longer
than all the line of railroad from Maine to Indiana and back again.

Dotty shut her lips together, and suffered in silence. But when the