WASHING THE PIG.
After her grandmother had left the room, Miss Dotty lay on the sofa for
five minutes, thinking.
"Then it doesn't make any difference how much anybody cries, or how much
they don't cry. If they are truly sorry, then they won't do it again;
that's all."
Then she wondered if Jennie Vance had asked her step-mother's pardon. She
thought she ought to talk to Jennie, and tell her how much happier she
would feel if she would only try to be a good little girl.
"That child is growing naughty every day of her life," mused Miss
Dimple, with a feeling of pity.
There was plenty of time to learn the morning's lesson by heart, for
Dotty was obliged to keep very quiet all day. The thorn had been removed
from her foot, but the healing must be a work of time; and more than
that, her throat was quite sore.
It seemed as if Susy and Prudy would never come; and when at last their
cheerful voices were heard ringing through the house, it was a welcome
sound indeed. They had brought some oranges for Katie and Dotty, with
sundry other niceties, from Aunt Martha's.
"Did you know," said Dotty, "I haven't had any breakfast to-day? I've
lost one meal, and I never shall make it up as long as I live; for I
couldn't eat two breakfasts, you know."
"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Aunt Louise, laughing; "if you'll
wake me up at twelve o'clock some night, I'll rise and prepare a
breakfast for you, and that will make it all right."
Dotty looked at her auntie as if she did not know whether to take her in
earnest or not.
"I've been sick at home all day, Prudy," said she; "and I s'pose
_you've_ been having a good time."
"Splendid! And Lightning Dodger brought us home."
"Who's Lightning Dodger?"
"Why, Aunt Martha's horse; don't you know? They call him that because
they say he goes so fast the lightning don't have time to hit him."
"O, you don't believe it--do you?" cried Dotty; "I guess that's
poetry."
"Little sister," replied Prudy, speaking in a low voice, "don't say
'poetry' ever again. There's something about it that's very queer. I
thought I knew how to make poetry, but they all laugh at me, even
grandma."
Dotty looked greatly surprised.
"Yes," continued Prudy, with a trembling voice; "I can rhyme verses and
jingle them; but there's something else I don't put in, I s'pose, that
belongs there. Some time I'll look in the big dictionary and see what it
is."
"Is Prudy telling about the party?" asked Susy, from the corner.
"What party?" cried Dotty, dancing on her well foot.
"There, now, don't feel so happy, darling, for you can't go; its a
family party, and Cousin Lydia wrote she hadn't room for the two
youngest; that's you and Flyaway."
Dotty looked as if she had received a blow. True, she knew nothing about
Cousin Lydia, who lived twenty miles away; but if that individual was
going to have a party, of course Dotty wished to go to it.
"Uncle John is going, all _his_ wife and children," said Prudy; "and I
don't see why Dotty can't."
Uncle John was Aunt Martha's husband, and "all _his_ wife and children"
meant only Aunt Martha and Lonnie.
"Cousin Lydia wanted to make me cry," exclaimed Dotty, her eyes shooting
out sparks of displeasure; "she 'spected I'd cry, and that's
why--Katie," added she, drawing the little one up to her, "Cousin Lydia
won't let you come to her house."
"What _for_ she won't?" cried Katie, looking defiant. "If I good would
her put me in the closet? I don't like her tall, tenny rate."
This was the strongest expression of wrath Katie dared use; and when she
said she did not like a person "tall tenny rate," it meant that she was
very, very angry.
"Has Cousin Yiddy got some heart?" asked she indignantly.
"Not a bit," replied Dotty, fiercely.
Mrs. Parlin now tried to explain. She said Mrs. Tenny did not intend any
disrespect to the two youngest ones; but she really had no room for
them, as her guests were to spend the night.
"The mistake she made was in asking Susy and Prudy," said Aunt Louise;
"but I suppose she was curious to see our little poetess."
Prudy blushed, and hid her face behind the curtain.
"Poor little sister," thought she, "how she feels!" For Dotty sat in the
rocking-chair, as stiff as a jointed doll, looking as if she loved
nobody and nobody loved her. Her beautiful eyes had ceased to shoot
sparks of fire, and now appeared hard and frozen, like thick blue ice.
In fact, a fit of the pouts was coming on very fast, and gentle Prudy
dreaded it. She had been so happy in the thought of riding to
Bloomingdale; could she give up that pleasure, and stay at home with
Dotty? Nothing less, she knew, would satisfy the child. All her life
Prudy had been learning to think of the happiness of others before her
own. She cast another glance at the still face.
"I'm not going to Bloomingdale," sighed she, behind the curtain.
But when she told Mrs. Parlin so, that night, her voice was very
tremulous.
"You dear little girl," said grandma, giving her a hearty kiss; "you
need not make any such resolve. Your sister Alice must learn to bear
disappointments as well as you. You are going to Bloomingdale with us,
my child; so bring your blue dress to me, and let me see if it is in
order."
Though Prudy's offer to remain at home had been made in all good faith,
and though she was really sorry to think of leaving Dotty alone, still I
cannot say her heart did not bound with delight on being told she _must_
go.
Thursday morning came clear and bright, and with it Miss Polly, downcast
and sad, in a mournful brown bonnet, the front of which, as Prudy said,
was "making a courtesy." Miss Polly was, however, in as good spirits as
usual, and had come to keep house with Ruth, and help take care of the
children for this day and the next.
Till the last minute Prudy and Dotty walked the piazza, their arms
about each other's waist.
"I s'pose," said Dotty, sullenly, "when you are at that old Cousin
Lydia's, having good times, you won't think anything about me and Katie,
left here all alone."
"Why, little sister!"
"Maybe," continued Dotty, "the ducks will hatch while you're gone. I saw
the white hen flying over the fence with one of those eggs in her
mouth."
"A piece of the shell?"
"O, no, a whole egg, right in her bill," replied Dotty, who supposed she
was telling the truth. "And you know those big strawberries that cost a
cent apiece, Prudy; you'll be sorry you couldn't be here to help eat 'em
in cream."
Perhaps Dotty hoped, even at this last moment, that Prudy would be
induced to stay at home. If so, she was doomed to be disappointed.
"Well," said Prudy, "I'm glad you'll have such nice times, Dotty."
"O, it won't be nice at all. Something will happen; now you see if it
don't," said Dotty, determined to be miserable.
After the two carriages, with the horses "Deacon" and "Judge," had
driven off, and grandpa had given his last warning about fire, and
Horace and the girls had waved their handkerchiefs for the last time,
Dotty proceeded to the kitchen to see if she could find anything
wherewith to make herself unhappy. Ruth stood by the flour-board
kneading bread, and cutting it with a chopping-knife in a brisk, lively
way. Polly sat by the stove sighing and rubbing silver.
"Dear me, child, what are you doing with my starch?" said Ruth as she
saw Dotty with the bowl at her lips, and a sticky stream tickling down
her apron.
"Starch?" cried Dotty, in disgust; "and you never told me, Ruthie! How
did I know it wasn't arrow-root?"
"You see, Polly," said Ruth in a discouraged tone, "just what we are to
expect from these children to-day. Next thing we know, that morsel of a
Katie will be running away. They are enough to try the patience of Job
when they both of them set out to see what they _can_ do. And if Jennie
Vance comes, the house will be turned upside down in five minutes."
Ruth might have known better than to complain to Polly, who always had
something in her own experience which was worse than anybody else had
known.
"We all have our trials," sighed that sorrowful woman; "if it isn't
children, it's aches and pains. Now, for my part, I've been troubled
for ten years with--"
Here followed a list of diseases. Ruth shut her lips together, resolved
to say nothing more about her own trials.
"They don't either of them like me," thought Dotty. "I'm going off in
the barn, and perhaps they'll think I'm dead. Katie," said she, sternly,
"I'm going off somewhere, and you mustn't try to find me."
Then there was some one else who felt quite alone in the world, and that
was little Katie. Her cousin had pushed her one side as if she was of no
value. Katie was a very little child, but she was old enough to feel
aggrieved. She went into the parlor, and threw herself face downwards on
the sofa, thinking.
"Somebody leave me alone. O, dear! Some naughty folks don't think I'm
any gooder than a baby."
Then the poor little thing ran out to "breve the fleshy air." No, she
wasn't quite alone in the world after all, for there was Charlie Gray at
the gate.
"Is um _you_?" she cried gleefully.
Charlie said it was.
"You didn't came to see big folks--did you? You camed to see Katie. I
love you deely."
Then she tried to kiss him; but Charlie drew away.
"O, is your face sore?" asked the little girl.
By this time they had got as far as the seat in the trees, and Charlie
had found his tongue.
"I didn't come thee _you_," said he. "I came thee your grandpa'th pig."
"O," said Katie, perfectly satisfied.
Off they started for the pig-pen.
[Illustration: WASHING THE PIG.--Page 137.]
"I'm glad Dotty Dimble goed away," said Katie, swinging Charlie's hand;
"her's stinchy and foolidge."
"Good girlth don't thay tho," said sweet little Charlie rather shocked.
"Well, I do; stinchy and foolidge!" repeated Katie, as severely as if
she had known what the words meant.
The pig was not expecting any visitors, and when he found that Charlie
and Katie had brought him nothing to eat, he did not seem very glad to
see them.
"How you do, piggy?" said Katie, swinging a stick through the opening by
the trough.
Piggy ran away, looking very unamiable; and then he came back again,
rolling his little eyes, and grunting sulkily.
"He don't look pleathant," said Charlie.
"No," replied Katie, archly; "I guess um don't want to be kissed."
Piggy winked his pink eyes, as if to say, "Ah, but I do."
"Does you?" said Katie, kindly, "then I'll frow you one;" and she did it
from the tips of her clean fingers.
"But piggy's velly dirty," said she, wiping her lips on her apron.
"Don't they wath him?" said Charlie; "they wath theep."
"Um isn't a sheep," returned Katie; "um's a pig."
"But your gwampa could wath him."
"No, gampa couldn't; gampa's deaf. I'll tell Ruthie, and Ruthie'll wash
him with the toof brush."
"I with thee would," sighed Charlie; "thee ought to. O ho!" he added, a
bright thought striking him; "you got a mop?"
"A mop?"
"Yes; a bwoom 'thout any bwoom on it; only wags."
Katie knew what he meant in a minute; and soon her hair was flying in
the wind, as she ran into the house for her handled mop. She looked
first in the parlor, and then in the front hall; but at last she found
it in the wash-room. She was very sly about it, for she was not sure
Ruthie would approve of this kind of housework. Then Charlie tugged out
a pail of water, and dipped in the mop; and between them both they
thrust it through the opening of the pen, upon piggy's back. But the
dirty creature did not love clean water. When he felt the mop coming
down, he thought the sky was falling, and ran as fast as Chicken Little
frightened by the rose-leaf.
It was of no use. The mop was wilful, and fell into the trough; and
there it staid, though the children spent the rest of the forenoon in
vain attempts to hook it out. When Ruthie went that noon to feed the
pig, she found the trough choked with a mop, a hoe, a shovel, and
several clothes-pins. She did not stop to inquire into the matter, but
took the articles out, one by one, saying to herself, with a smile,--
"Some of that baby's work. I couldn't think what had become of my mop;
she's enough to try the patience of Job. And now," added Ruth, throwing
her apron over her head, "I may as well look up Miss Dimple. There's not
a better child in the world than she is when she pleases; but deary me,
when things do go wrong!"
Just then a wagon drove up to the gate, and Ruth said, as she saw a
burly figure alight from it,--
"Why, that can't be Uncle Seth? I'm afraid something has happened at our
house!"