"Bess its 'ittle heart," cried Mrs. Lovejoy, pressing it close to her
travelling-cape, while several of the passengers looked on, quite
interested in the scene. "Did the naughty, wicked girlie try to choke
its muzzer's precious baby? We'll w'ip her; so we will! She shan't come
near my lovey-dovey with her snarly hair."

Mrs. Lovejoy's remarks pricked like a nosegay of thistles. They were not
only sharp in themselves, but they were uttered with such evident
displeasure that every word stung.

Dotty was creeping away with her head down, her "snarly hair" veiling
her sorrowful eyes, when she remembered her hat, and meekly asked Mrs.
Lovejoy to restore it.

"Take it," was the ungracious reply, "and don't you ever offer to hold
another baby till you have a little common sense."

Dotty walked away with her fingers in her mouth, more angry than
grieved, and conscious that all eyes were upon her.

"I didn't mean to scold you, child," called the woman after her; "only
you might have killed my baby, and I think you're big enough to know
better."

This last sentence, spoken more gently, was intended to heal all wounds;
but it had no such effect. Dotty was sure everybody had heard it, and
was more ashamed than ever. She had never before met with any one so ill
bred as Mrs. Lovejoy. She supposed her own conduct had been almost
criminal, whereas Mrs. Lovejoy was really much more at fault than
herself. A woman who has no tenderness for a well-meaning little girl,