Transcriber’s Notes:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.
* * * * *
[Illustration: SAFE AT HOME.--Page 137.]
* * * * *
[Illustration:
DOTTY DIMPLE
STORIES
BY SOPHIE MAY.
ILLUSTRATED
DOTTY AT SCHOOL.
LEE & SHEPARD BOSTON
KILBURN SC R. SAYER DEL
]
* * * * *
_DOTTY DIMPLE STORIES._
DOTTY DIMPLE AT SCHOOL.
BY SOPHIE MAY,
AUTHOR OF “LITTLE PRUDY STORIES.”
Illustrated.
BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD.
1869.
* * * * *
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by
LEE AND SHEPARD,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
ELECTROTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY,
19 Spring Lane.
* * * * *
TO
ATTIE STARBIRD
AND
KATIE WHEELER.
* * * * *
DOTTY DIMPLE STORIES.
To be completed in six vols. Handsomely Illustrated.
Each vol., 75 cts.
1. _DOTTY DIMPLE AT HER GRANDMOTHER’S._
2. _DOTTY DIMPLE AT HOME._
3. _DOTTY DIMPLE OUT WEST._
4. _DOTTY DIMPLE AT PLAY._
5. _DOTTY DIMPLE AT SCHOOL._
6. _DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY._
* * * * *
BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
LITTLE PRUDY STORIES.
Now complete. Six vols. 24mo. Handsomely Illustrated.
In a neat box. Per vol., 75 cts. Comprising
1. _LITTLE PRUDY._
2. _LITTLE PRUDY’S SISTER SUSY._
3. _LITTLE PRUDY’S CAPTAIN HORACE._
4. _LITTLE PRUDY’S COUSIN GRACE._
5. _LITTLE PRUDY’S STORY BOOK._
6. _LITTLE PRUDY’S DOTTY DIMPLE._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE FIRST DAY. 7
II. DOTTY AND TATE. 24
III. DOING A LIE. 38
IV. DOTTY AND HER MOTHER. 50
V. THE SCREW-UP PENCIL. 59
VI. DOTTY AND LINA. 75
VII. BLOWING AWAY. 86
VIII. IS YOUR NAME SOLOMON? 103
IX. A LONG NIGHT. 117
X. SAFE AT HOME. 131
XI. BOSOM FRIENDS. 144
XII. THE DEAR LITTLE SCHOOL. 153
DOTTY DIMPLE AT SCHOOL.
CHAPTER I.
THE FIRST DAY.
“O, dear, dear! Who set this basket down on my white apron? All
wrinkled up! I can’t go to school! And me with a new book, bought day
before yesterday!”
“It was I, little sister,” said Prudy, gently. “It was an accident; I’m
sorry if I’ve hurt your apron.”
“O, it isn’t hurt any,” replied Dotty, in a different tone; “not a
speck, Prudy. But won’t you please button my boots? There, I wish I was
a horse, and then my shoes would be nailed on, and be done with it.”
When the boots were buttoned, Dotty was in another flutter.
“Isn’t it time to start yet? What a slow clock! Only eight! I’m going
down to help Norah hang out the clothes.”
“Just the napkins and little things, Norah,” said she, suddenly
appearing in the back-door yard with her apron half fastened. “I’ll
have time before I go to school, and mamma’s always willing.”
“Well, I suppose if you must, you must,” said Norah, trying to talk
with a clothespin in her mouth; “but it’s pretty cold weather for
little girls like you to be out, with nothing on their heads.”
Dotty took up a handkerchief, shook it once or twice, and spread it
on the line; but before she had secured it with a clothespin, it was
frozen stiff.
“Why, Norah, what makes you starch the clothes before you put them
out? Why don’t you wait till they’re dry?”
“It isn’t starch, Miss Dotty; it’s the cold weather. You’d better run
into the house before you freeze.”
“Why, I haven’t hung out but one napkin and two hangerjifs, Norah.”
“No matter; your hands are as red as lobsters; and, another thing,
you’re shaking the clothes all to pieces. Did I ever tell you how your
sister Prudy was served once, when she was a wee thing, and wouldn’t
mind me?”
“Didn’t Prudy always mind? You said she did.”
“Well, no; once Prudy was naughty. I told her to go away from the door,
and not touch the frosty nails; but she didn’t pay any heed; and by and
by she came crying to me, and do you believe, there were nails sticking
to her fingers.”
“Honest? truly?”
“Yes; Prudy remembers it, I know.”
“I mean to go ask her,” said Dotty, dropping a collar and bounding
away. “Prudy,” said she, rushing into the house breathless, her cheeks
and the tip of her nose glowing with the kisses of the wind. “I’ll tell
you something. _Did_ you ever have nails sticking to your fingers?”
“Yes, and I have now,” replied Prudy, holding out her hands, and
exhibiting her rosy finger-tips.
“O, those! Why, Prudy Parlin, I think you’re real too-bad, and Norah
too! She didn’t want me to spread clo’es; so she told a hint. She’s
always telling hints. If I was a Cath’lic, and little girls wanted to
hang out clo’es, and make thimble-cookies and things, I wouldn’t treat
’em so, and say there was nails, when I meant fingernails!”
“O, well, Dotty, Norah thinks we are try-patiences, I s’pose. Mother
doesn’t allow her to scold, and so she has to _manage_.”
“H’m!” ejaculated Dotty, with a curling lip. But all this while the
“slow clock” was busy.
“Now it is a quarter OF,” said Prudy. She uttered the words as coolly
as if they were of very slight importance; but Dotty’s little heart
beat like a drum. How often had she heard Prudy say, “It’s a quarter
_of_,” and seen her skip out of the house, kissing her hand for good
by! As the door closed after her, Dotty had always felt as if it shut
herself out of something beautiful--something every way desirable.
And now it was coming,--the day and the hour. She was about to be a
school-girl at last. No longer a little child, who stays at home and
plays with paper dolls, but a little woman, who goes out to learn the
ways of the world.
As the two children walked on together in advance of Susy, every object
looked to Dotty wondrous fair.
“Prudy,” said she, confidentially, “I’ve played enough. I may play a
little more once in a while, but not much. I want to grow a great lady,
like mamma, and read poetry, and write letters.”
“Yes, dear; but when you get to talking so fast, you keep pushing me
into the street with your elbow.”
“Do I? I didn’t mean to. O, how white the world is! Looks like a
frosted cake. Prudy, don’t you wish you’s dead?”
“No; what an idea!”
“Nor I don’t, either.”
“Then what made you ask if I did, Dotty Dimple?”
“O, I was only thinking about the angels sifting down snow. Look at the
drift top o’ that store. So hard you could jump on it, and not leave a
scar.”
“Please, Dotty, keep your elbow still. Here we are at the school-house.
Now remember, you must behave like a little lady.”
“Needn’t tell me that, Prudy Parlin. It isn’t as if I was _some_ girls,
that don’t know your A B C’s. Six years old--going on seven. Can--”
Dotty was about to say, “Can tie a bow-knot,” and would have added
quite a list of other accomplishments; but as she found herself just
then in a crowd of little girls, she very prudently closed her lips,
and entered the school-room.
“Miss Parker, this is my little sister Alice,” said Prudy, going up to
the teacher; “but people know what you mean better if you say ‘Dotty
Dimple.’ She has never been to school before; but she can read in the
First Reader, if you let her spell the hard words aloud.”
“Very well,” said Miss Parker, with a smile. “I welcome Prudy Parlin’s
sister; and if she is half as good as Prudy, I shall never like to part
with her to go up stairs.”
Prudy slid her hand into Miss Parker’s. She remembered how that
warm-hearted young lady had kissed her with tears when she left the
primary department.
“O, I think she’ll be good, Miss Parker,” said Prudy, in a low voice,
while Dotty was looking out of the window; “only she never went to
school in her life, and if she doesn’t sit very still, I hope you’ll
try to excuse her.”
Miss Parker gave the little pleader a hearty embrace.
“Good by Dotty,” said Prudy. “I must leave you now. Remember, when you
go out to read, you mustn’t twist your front hair.”
“I never thought of twisting it, or sneezing either. Just’s if--”
But Prudy was gone. Presently the bell rang, and school had begun. Miss
Parker gave Dotty a seat beside a little girl in a dark-blue frock,
who had eyes the color of gray stocking-yarn, and a dent in her chin
so deep that Dotty was rather mortified, for it eclipsed both hers
entirely.
“But, then, she isn’t pretty, if she does have such a ’normous dimple,
for there’s a wart on her thumb, and I don’t like warts.”
The little girl’s name was Sarah Penny, usually called Tate. She looked
at the new scholar with some curiosity. Their eyes met, and then Tate
smiled, showing some irregular little teeth. Dotty smiled too, making
her dimples as deep as possible. She watched Tate’s chin, and was
pleased to observe that the dent never moved. After this silent but
friendly greeting, the two children felt a little acquainted.
“She’s a real beauty,” thought the good-natured Tate, gazing at her
companion’s lovely face without envy.
“_She_ has zigzag teeth,” thought the critical Miss Dimple; “but I like
her.”
Tate opened her Testament, and let Dotty look on with her while Miss
Parker read aloud the morning chapter. It was a leather-covered
Testament, and had been scratched by penknives.
“I s’pose she’s a poor little girl,” thought Dotty, “or she wouldn’t
have such an _owdrageous_ old book! The outside of it’s all wrinkled
up--looks like a raisin.”
At this same moment Tate was thinking, “I s’pose SHE’S a rich little
girl,--got on a ring!”
Neither of the children, I fear, paid much heed to the reading. Tate
turned back to the fly-leaf, and pointed out to Dotty the words in
blue ink, “The Property of Isaac S. Penny,” followed by the wonderful
couplet,--
“If you don’t believe this book is mine,
Please look on page thirty-nine.”
Dotty could not read the writing, but was delighted with various hearts
and darts, drawn in red ink, and eagles in black, with wings made of
loops, and bills made of points. She thought they must have been drawn
by a great genius.
After the morning exercises, she sat very prim, and looked straight
before her at the blackboard.
“I don’t so much as wink,” thought she. “I wish Prudy could see me now.”
But this unnatural stillness did not last long. Dotty very soon found
that her companion had a slate, and she began to make pictures on
it, swaying herself to and fro as she drew. Tate looked over Dotty’s
shoulders, and watched the pictures as they grew. It puzzled her a
little to guess what they were meant for; and, strange to say, the
little artist was quite as much puzzled herself.
“What is this thing?” whispered she to Tate. “I made it for a cat;
but then, I went and put feathers in the tail, and now I guess it’s a
turkey.”
Tate wrinkled her forehead, and eyed the doubtful picture with a wise
look.
“It ’pears to me,” replied she, hesitating,--“it ’pears to me more like
a tea-pot.”
Now, whispering was against the rule, and Dotty knew it as well as
Tate; but they both thought if they put their heads together, and spoke
so low that no one else could hear, there was no harm in it. At any
rate, so thought Tate, for she had done it so long that her conscience
was hardened.
“I’m not whispering to _you_,” said she to Dotty; “I’m whispering to
the slate.”
Dotty stared a little.
“But you spect me to hear,” said she; “so it’s just the same.”
When the time came for the youngest class in the First Reader, Dotty
felt a little frightened.
“I can’t read very well,” thought she, “and p’raps the teacher’ll put
me down to the bottom of the foot.”
But her fears were groundless; she was placed next to the head; and
though the girl above her could read as fast as a stone rolls down
hill, Miss Parker said nothing about sending Dotty Dimple to “the
bottom of the foot.”
“I have as nice boots as they have, and ruffles round my wrist,”
thought the new pupil; “but they are all littler than me, and can read
’thout spelling the words out loud.”
This was very humiliating. Dotty’s curly head sank a little. She
stepped out of line, and, closing her book, let it drop by her side.
“Raise your book, Alice, my dear,” said the teacher, kindly, “and keep
your finger on the place; that is the proper way.”
“Yes’m,” replied Dotty, demurely, and opened her Reader wrong side
upward, at the same time stepping forward several inches in advance of
the other girls. Tate Penny tittered a little, and Dotty drew back in
a moment.
“My mamma never made me stand in a straight line,” murmured she, “and I
don’t know how.”
Miss Parker saw Dotty’s mortification, and hastened to soothe her.
“I dare say you will learn so fast,” said she, “that you will make all
these other little girls very much ashamed.”
Dotty looked up, and her eyes brightened. “You never went to school
before, I believe.”
“No’m,” replied Dotty, briskly, her unusual bashfulness disappearing in
a moment. “No’m, I never; only, when I was at grandpa Parlin’s, I went
some days with Jennie Vance. My mamma used to let me read in her lap.
You see she _couldn’t_ make me stand up in a row, ’cause I wasn’t but
one girl.”
The other children smiled. They thought this must be a very strange
child, to talk so familiarly with the teacher.
“Prudy taught me my letters,” she went on: “A for ape, and B for
bat--looked as if he had an umberella on him--and C for cat--a story
for every one I learned. Prudy told real pretty stories, too. I can
remember ’em now. But my mamma didn’t have much time to ’tend to my
reading; so she said, after Christmas I must go to your school.”
Miss Parker pressed her lips together firmly--a habit she had when
anything amused her. It was very clear to her mind that Miss Dimple did
not understand the ways of a school-room. Dotty saw the other little
girls looking at one another as if they were amused.
“They like to hear me talk,” thought she, throwing back her curly
head. “I’ll talk some more.”
“Miss Parker, may I have a drink of water? ’Cause I’ve been eating
snow; and when I eat snow it makes me thirsty. Jennie Vance used to
carry a little bottle to school; but her teacher said she mustn’t.”
“Lina Rosenberg, it is your turn to read,” remarked Miss Parker. “We
will have no more talking, if you please.”
The new scholar dropped her head, “like violets after rain,” thinking,
“O, dear, dear! what have I done now?”