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SOPHIE MAY'S
LITTLE FOLKS' BOOKS.
_Any volume sold separately._
=DOTTY DIMPLE SERIES.=--Six volumes. Illustrated. Per volume, 75 cents.
Dotty Dimple at her Grandmother's.
Dotty Dimple at Home.
Dotty Dimple out West.
Dotty Dimple at Play.
Dotty Dimple at School.
Dotty Dimple's Flyaway.
=FLAXIE FRIZZLE STORIES.=--Six volumes. Illustrated. Per volume, 75
cents.
Flaxie Frizzle. Little Pitchers. Flaxie's Kittyleen.
Doctor Papa. The Twin Cousins. Flaxie Growing Up.
=LITTLE PRUDY STORIES.=--Six volumes. Handsomely Illustrated. Per
volume, 75 cents.
Little Prudy.
Little Prudy's Sister Susy.
Little Prudy's Captain Horace.
Little Prudy's Story Book.
Little Prudy's Cousin Grace.
Little Prudy's Dotty Dimple.
=LITTLE PRUDY'S FLYAWAY SERIES.=--Six volumes. Illustrated. Per volume,
75 cents.
Little Folks Astray. Little Grandmother.
Prudy Keeping House. Little Grandfather.
Aunt Madge's Story. Miss Thistledown.
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.
BOSTON.
[Illustration: "MISS PATTY, ISN'T THIS THE LONGEST NIGHT YOU EVER
SAW?"--Page 161.]
DOTTY DIMPLE
STORIES
BY SOPHIE MAY.
ILLUSTRATED
DOTTY AT HER GRANDMOTHER'S
LEE & SHEPARD BOSTON
_DOTTY DIMPLE STORIES._
DOTTY DIMPLE
AT HER GRANDMOTHER'S.
BY SOPHIE MAY,
AUTHOR OF "LITTLE PRUDY STORIES."
Illustrated.
BOSTON
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 10 MILK STREET
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870,
BY LEE AND SHEPARD,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
TO
_SARAH G. PEIRCE_
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. DOTTY'S PIN-MONEY, 7
II. PLAYING KING AND QUEEN, 23
III. THE WHITE TRUTH, 42
IV. DOTTY'S CAMEL, 57
V. A SAD FRIGHT, 68
VI. MAKING POETRY, 94
VII. A DAY ON THE SOFA, 109
VIII. WASHING THE PIG, 122
IX. A DARK DAY, 139
X. "THE END OF THE WORLD," 156
XI. CRAZY DUCKLINGS, 170
XII. "THE CHARLIE BOY," 182
DOTTY DIMPLE AT HER GRANDMOTHER'S.
CHAPTER I.
DOTTY'S PIN-MONEY
Everything was very fresh and beautiful one morning in May, as if God
had just made the world. The new grass had begun to grow, and the fields
were dotted over with short, golden-topped dandelions.
The three Parlin children had come to their grandmother's much earlier
in the season than usual; and now on this bright Sabbath morning they
were going to church.
Dotty Dimple, otherwise Alice, thought the fields looked like her Aunt
Maria's green velvet toilet-cushion stuck full of pins. The spiders had
spread their gauzy webs over the grass, and the dew upon them sparkled
in the sunshine like jewels. "Such nice tablecloths as they would have
made for the fairies," thought Dotty, "if there only were any fairies."
"The world is ever so much handsomer than it was a week ago," said
Prudy, pointing towards the far-off hills. "I'd like to be on that
mountain, and just put my hand out and touch the sky."
"That largest pick," said Dotty, "is Mount Blue. It's covered with
blueberries, and that's why it's so blue."
"Who told you that?" asked Susy, smiling. "It isn't time yet for
blueberries; and if it was, we couldn't see them forty miles off without
a telescope."
"Jennie Vance told me," said Dotty; "and she ought to know, for her
father is the judge."
By this time the children had reached the church, and were waiting on
the steps for the rest of the family. It was pleasant to watch the
people coming from up and down the street, looking so neat and peaceful.
But when Jennie Vance drew near with her new summer silk and the elegant
feather in her hat, Dotty's heart gave a quick double beat, half
admiration, half envy. Jennie's black eyes were shining with vanity, and
her nicely gaitered feet tripped daintily up the steps.
"How d'ye do?" said she, carelessly, to Dotty, and swept by her like a
little ship under full sail.
"Jennie Vance needn't talk so about her new mother," whispered Prudy,
"for she gives her fifty-two new dresses, one for every Sunday."
Dotty's brow darkened. Just now it seemed to her one of the greatest
trials in the whole world that the dress she wore had been made over
from one of Prudy's. It was a fine white organdie with a little pink
sprig, but there was a darn in the skirt. Then there was no feather in
her hat, and no breastpin at her throat.
Poor Dotty! She did not hear much of the sermon, but sat very quiet,
counting the nails in the pews and the pipes in the organ, and watching
old Mr. Gordon, who had a red silk kerchief spread over his head to
guard it against the draught from the window. She listened a little to
the prayers, it is true, because she knew it was wrong to let her
thoughts wander when Mr. Preston was speaking to God.
When the services were over, and she was going to her Sabbath school
class, she passed Jennie Vance in the aisle.
"Where are you going, Jennie?" said she.
"Going home. My mamma says I needn't stay to say my lessons and miss a
warm dinner."
Jennie said this with such a toss of the head that Dotty longed to reply
in a cutting manner.
"It isn't polite to have warm dinners on Sunday, Jennie Vance! But you
said your father had a _step-wife_, and perhaps she doesn't know!"
"I didn't say my papa had a step-wife, Dotty Dimple."
But this was all Jennie had time to retort, for Dotty now entered the
pew where her class were to sit. Miss Preston was the teacher, and it
was her custom to have each of her little pupils repeat a half dozen
verses or so, which she explained to them in a very clear manner. The
children did not always understand her, however; and you shall see
hereafter how Dotty's queer little brain grew befogged. The last clause
of one of her verses to-day was this:--
"The Lord loveth a cheerful giver."
"Suppose," said Miss Preston, "there were two little girls living in a
beautiful house, with everything nice to eat and wear, and there should
come a poor man in rags, and beg for charity. One of the little girls is
so sorry for him that she runs to her mamma and asks, as a favor, to be
allowed to give him some of her Christmas money. The other little girl
shakes her head, and says, 'O, sister what makes you do so? But if you
do it _I_ must.' Then she pours out half her money for the beggar, but
scowls all the while.--Which is the 'cheerful giver?'"
"The first little girl. O, of course, Miss Preston." Then Dotty fell to
thinking:--
"I don't have much to give away but just pieces of oranges; but I don't
scowl when I do it. I'm a great deal more 'cheerful' than Jennie Vance;
for I never saw her give away anything but a thimble after the pig had
chewed it. 'There, take it, Lu Piper,' said she, 'for it pinches, and I
don't want it.' I shouldn't think _that_ was very cheerful, I am sure."
Thus Dotty treasured up the lesson for the sake of her friend. It was
really surprising how anxious she was that Jennie should always do
right.
Now it happened that before the week was out a man came to Mr. Parlin's
back door begging. Dotty wondered if it might not be the same man Miss
Preston had mentioned, only he was in another suit of clothes. She and
Jennie were swinging, with Katie between them, and Susy and Prudy were
playing croquet. They all ran to see what the man wanted. He was not
ragged, and if it had not been for the green shade over his eyes and the
crooked walking-stick in his hand, the children would not have thought
of his being a beggar. He was a very fleshy man, and the walk seemed to
have taken away his breath.
"Little maidens," said he, in gentle tones, "have you anything to give a
poor tired wayfarer?"
There was no answer, for the children did not know what to say. But the
man seemed to know what to do; he seated himself on the door-step, and
wiped his face with a cotton handkerchief. Little Katie, the girl with
flying hair, who was sometimes called 'Flyaway,' looked at him with
surprise as he puffed at every breath.
"When um breeves," said she to Dotty, "seems's um _whissils_."
"Come here, little maiden," said the beggar, pointing to Dotty; "you are
the handsomest of all, and you may take this document of mine. It will
tell you that I am a man of great sorrows."
Dotty, very much flattered, took the paper from his hands. It was greasy
and crumpled, looking as if it had been lying beside bread and butter in
a dirty pocket. She gave it to Susy, for she could not read it herself.
It was written by one of the "selectmen" of a far-away town, and asked
all kind people to take pity on the bearer, who was described as "a poor
woman with a family of children." Susy laughed, and pointed out the word
"woman" to Prudy.
"Why do you smile, little ladies? Isn't it writ right? 'Twas writ by a
lawyer."
"I will carry it in to my grandmother," said Susy; and she entered the
house, followed by all the children.
"Who knows but he's a _griller_?" said Jennie.
"Lem _me_ see paper," cried Katie, snatching at it, and holding it up to
her left ear.
"O, dear!" sighed she, in a grieved tone; "it won't talk to me, Susy. I
don't hear nuffin 'tall."
"She's a cunning baby, so she is," said Dotty. "She s'poses writing
talks to people; she thinks that's the way they read it."
Grandmamma Parlin thought the man was probably an impostor. She went
herself and talked with him; but, when she came back, instead of
searching the closets for old garments, as Dotty had expected, she
seated herself at her sewing, and did not offer to bestow a single
copper on the beggar.
"Susy," said she, "he says he is hungry, and I cannot turn him away
without food. You may spread some bread and butter, with ham between the
slices, and carry out to him."
"What makes her so cruel?" whispered Dotty.
"O, Grandma knows best," replied Prudy. "She never is cruel."
"What makes you put on so much butter?" said Jennie Vance; "I wouldn't
give him a single thing but cold beans."
Dotty, whose Sunday school lesson was all the while ringing in her ears,
looked at the judge's daughter severely.
"Would you pour cold beans into anybody's hands, Jennie Vance? Once my
mamma gave some preserves to a beggar,--quince preserves,--she did."
Jennie only tossed her head.
"I'm going to give him some money," continued Dotty, defiantly; "just as
cheerfully as ever I can."
"O, yes, because he called you the handsomest."
"No, Jennie Vance; because _I_ am not stingy."
"Um isn't stinchy," echoed Katie.
"I've got some Christmas money here. I earned it by picking pins off the
floor, six for a cent. It took a great while, Jennie, but _I_ wouldn't
be selfish, like _some_ little girls."
"Now, little sister," said Prudy, taking Dotty one side, "don't give
your money to this man. You'll be sorry by and by."
But there was a stubborn look in Dotty's eyes, and she marched off to
her money-box as fast as she could go. When she returned with the pieces
of scrip, which amounted in all to fifteen cents, the children were
grouped about the beggar, who sat upon the door-step, the plate of
sandwiches before him.
"Here's some money, sir, for your sick children," cried Dotty, with an
air of importance.
"Blessings on your pretty face," replied the man, eagerly.
Dotty cast a triumphant glance at Jennie.
"Ahem! This is better than nothing," added the beggar, in a different
tone, after he had counted the money. "And now haven't any of the rest
of you little maidens something to give a poor old wayfarer that's been
in the wars and stove himself up for his country?"
There was no reply from any one of the little girls, even tender Prudy.
And as Dotty saw her precious scrip swallowed up in that dreadfully
dingy wallet, it suddenly occurred to her that she had not done such a
very wise thing, after all.
"Why don't you eat your luncheon, sir?" said Jennie Vance; for the man,
after taking up the slices of bread and looking at them had put them
down again with an air of disdain.
"I thought, by the looks of the house, that Christians lived here," said
he, shaking his head slowly. "Haven't you a piece of apple pie, or a cup
custard, to give a poor man that's been in prison for you in the south
country? Not so much as a cup of coffee or a slice of beefsteak? No. I
see how it is," he added, wiping his face and rising with an effort;
"you are selfish, good-for-nothing creeters, the whole of you. Here I've
been wasting my time, and all I get for it is just dog's victuals, and
enough scrip to light my pipe."
With this he began to walk off, puffing. Dotty longed to run after him
and call out, "Please, sir, give me back my money." But it was too late;
and summoning all her pride, she managed to crush down the tears.
"Tell the people in this house that I shake off the dust of my feet
against them," wheezed the stranger, indignantly. "The dust of my
feet--do you hear?"
"What a wicked, disagreeable old thing!" murmured Jennie Vance.
"Dish-gwee-bly old fing!" cried "Flyaway," nodding her head till her
hair danced like little tufts of corn-silk.
"I'm glad I didn't give him any of _my_ money," said Jennie, loftily.
"So am I," returned Susy.
Prudy said nothing.
"I didn't see him shake his feet," said Dotty, changing the subject;
"and the dust wouldn't come off if he did shake 'em."
"Have you any more Christmas money left, Dotty," said Jennie, twirling
her gold ring on her finger.
"O, yes, ever so much at home. And I shall soon have more," added Dotty,
with a great effort to be cheerful; "for people are always dropping
pins."
"I've got any quantity of scrip," pursued Jennie; "and I don't have to
work for it, either."
"O, dear," thought Dotty, "what's the use to be good? I 'sposed if I
gave away my money _cheerfully_, they'd all feel ashamed of themselves;
but they don't! I wish I had it back in my box, I do!"