"O, dear!" said she; "it sticks up all over my head like a skein of yarn.
Children, do hush!"

"Mine curls too tight, if anything; don't you think so?" asked Flossy,
trying not to look as well satisfied with herself as she really felt;
adding, by way of parenthesis, "Johnny, why can't you be quiet?"

"Are you going to let me have that bouquet-holder, Johnny Eastman?"
continued Dotty; "'cause I'm going right out to tell my mother. She'll
be so mortified she'll send you right home, if you hold it up to your
nose, when you are nothing but a boy."

"That's right, Dimple, run and tell."

"No, I shan't tell if you'll give it to me. And you may have one of the
roses in your button-hole, Johnny. That's the way the Pickings man had,
that wrote Little Nell; father said so. There's a good boy, now!"

Dotty dropped her voice to a milder key, and smiled as sweetly as the
bitterness of her feelings would permit. She had set her heart on the
toy, and her white slippers, and even her gold necklace, dwindled into
nothing in comparison.

"Whose mother owns this bouquet-holder, I'd like to know?" said Johnny,
flourishing it above his head. "And whose father brought home the flowers
from the green-house?"

"Well, any way, Johnny, 'twas my aunt and uncle, you know; and they'd be
willing, 'cause your mamma let me have her necklace 'thout my asking."