Then Dotty looked out of the window again. "What a good little girl I
am," thought she, "not to be a cryin'! Prudy'd cry! There goes the
blacksmif's shop." Dotty meant the blacksmith. "His mother lets him go
everywhere. Everybody's mother lets 'em go everywhere."

A prettily dressed little girl passed the window.

"How do you do, little girl?" whispered Dotty, in a voice so low that
even the cat did not hear. "O, what a booful hat you've got! Would your
mamma make you wear a _rainy_ dress, like mine? No, she wouldn't. Your
mamma lets you go to parties all the days only Sundays. My mamma has
sticked me into the nursery, and nothin' but a dar'needle to sew with!
O, hum! And I haven't runned away since forever'n ever! They don't 'low
me to run away. Wish Fanny Harlow'd asked me to her party. I know why
she never! 'Cause she forgot I was born."

Presently there was a sound of little feet. Dotty was pattering up
stairs.

"Didn't know I was sewing with a dar'needle--did you, mamma? Mayn't I go
to Fanny Harlow's party?"

Mrs. Parlin was busy with visitors, and did not pay much heed to her
little daughter. So Dotty crept close to her mother's side, and buried
her roguish face behind her head-dress.

"Wish you'd please to punish me, mamma," said she; "punish me now; I'm
_a-goin_' to be naughty?"

Mrs. Parlin smiled, and reminded Dotty that it was not polite to whisper