A Sweet Little Maid - Amy Ella Blanchard (e reader books .txt) 📗

get all the eggs she wanted."

They found old Speckle ready to be quite flustered when they took her off the nest, for they found that four little chicks were already hatched, and the shells of several other eggs were chipped.

Mr. Dallas gave the children each two of the little chicks to carry up to the house, that they might be kept safely till Speckle came off with the rest of the brood, and Bubbles, who had followed them, trotted along behind with her hands full of the eggs they were fortunate enough to find.

The new building was begun at once, and Dimple found it hard to keep away from it, but she resolutely stuck to her promise. One day, to be sure, she did not venture nearer than usual, but suddenly she exclaimed in a loud voice, "Get thee hence, satan!" and turning ran directly into Bubbles who, as usual, had followed her.

"What dat yuh call me, Miss Dimple," exclaimed Bubbles, in an aggrieved tone.

"You! Oh, I wasn't talking to you."

This seemed rather a lame excuse to Bubbles, since no one else was near. "Yass 'm, yuh is call me sumpin'," she insisted. "Dey ain't nobody else."

"There was somebody else," Dimple replied, with dignity. "And don't you contradict me. I reckon I know what I'm talking about better than you do."

This puzzled Bubbles, but it also silenced her, although she looked furtively around to see where Dimple's hidden acquaintance might be; that somebody else to whom she spoke so defiantly. "Hit's dat no 'count little niggah Jim, I'll be bound," she muttered, under her breath. "He done shy a stone at the de birds and dat mek Miss Dimple mad. She don't 'low nobody 'buse de birds." Thus settling the matter, she cheerfully smiled when Dimple gave her a glance, and Dimple laughed. Then she stood still.

"Bubbles," she said, "papa never said you mustn't go near that house, did he?"

"No 'm."

"Well, just go peep in and tell me what it looks like. From the looks of the outside, I should say that it is nearly done. You peep in at the window."

Bubbles obeyed, and came back with the information. "Hit's got a flo' an' a stove."

"Ah!" Dimple pondered. "Oh yes, that's to keep the baby chicks warm, I suppose. I wish I could see for myself. Is that all, Bubbles?"

"Yass 'm."

"I wish I hadn't told you to peep in," Dimple remarked, after a pause. "I don't believe it was quite honest for me to do it, and I'll have to be uncomfortable till I tell mamma or papa. You oughtn't to have peeped, Bubbles."

"Yuh tole me to."

"So I did, but--well, you shouldn't have done it, just the same."

Bubbles rolled her eyes reproachfully, and began to mutter.

"There, never mind. It wasn't your fault," Dimple confessed, hastily. But although Bubbles' countenance cleared, Dimple herself did not feel at ease till she had told her mother, which she did that night at bedtime.

"It was not right," her mother told her, "and was a bad example to Bubbles. That is where the trouble often comes in. Not so much in the actual wrong we do, but its effect upon others."

"I do want to see, so very much. Papa never made it so hard for me before."

"I know it, dear. I have realized very clearly all along how hard it must be for you, but I think when you do know you will be so pleased that you will forget this part of it. I am glad my little girlie was brave enough to tell of her asking Bubbles to peep."

And kissing her good-night, Mrs. Dallas left her little girl feeling comforted.


CHAPTER III


A Quarrel

"Raining! Isn't that too bad?" said Florence, leaning on one elbow in bed, and looking out of the window.

"Hm, hm," said Dimple, sleepily, from her pillow.

Florence slipped out of bed and stood looking dolefully at the falling drops.

"What do you suppose the birds do, Dimple?" she asked, going up to her, and softly shaking her.

"Oh," said Dimple, now awake, and sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes, "I suppose they get under the leaves just as we do under an umbrella, or they go under the eaves, and places like that. I have seen them lots of times. It is raining, isn't it, Florence?"

"I said so, long ago," answered Florence; "now we can't go out of doors to play, and it is so nice outdoors. I don't see the sense of its raining in summer."

"Why," returned Dimple, sitting down on the floor to put on her shoes and stockings, "that is the very time for it to rain, or everything would dry up."

"Well, I wish it didn't have to," said Florence, coming away from the window, and sitting on the floor too. "What color stockings do you like best, Dimple?"

"I don't know; black, I think. Don't you?"

"I believe I do. My! there is the breakfast bell, and we are only beginning to get dressed. You fasten my buttons, and I will fasten yours, Dimple, so we will get dressed in a hurry."

Their fingers flew, and they rushed down to breakfast two steps at a time.

"It was so dark this morning that we went to sleep again after you called us, mamma," explained Dimple.

"I will excuse you this time, but your breakfast is not as warm as it would have been earlier," said Mrs. Dallas, "and papa had to go away without his morning kiss."

"I am sorry," said Dimple. "Cold eggs aren't very good," she went on, pushing away her plate. "What can we do to-day, mamma?"

"What should you like to do?"

"I don't know," returned Dimple. "My feelings hurt me rainy days, and I don't know what I want."

Mrs. Dallas smiled, as she replied, "You might make paper dolls, they are good rainy day people; that would be one thing. Then you can paint."

"I haven't but one brush, and I have used up all the books and papers you gave me to paint in."

"I can find some more, perhaps, and you and Florence can take turn about with the paint brush."

Dimple looked as if that would not suit very well, and Florence seeing her look, felt a little hurt.

Paper dolls did not amuse them very long; and when Dimple was ready to color the pictures Mrs. Dallas had found for them, Florence declined absolutely to paint at all. So they both sat with their elbows on the window-sill, decidedly out of humor.

"Florence," said Dimple, presently, "I have an idea. Do you see that hogshead down there? It is running over."

"I see it," said Florence. "What of it; it isn't anything very wonderful."

"Well, you needn't be so disagreeable," said Dimple. "What I was going to say, is this; let's make paper boats, and put paper dolls in them. We can pretend the hogshead is Niagara Falls, and the water that runs down the gutter can be Niagara river."

"We will get sopping wet."

"Oh no, we won't; it isn't raining so awfully hard. I will put on my rubber waterproof, and you can put on mamma's. We can slip around there without any one seeing us, for mamma is busy on the other side of the house. Don't you think it would be fun?"

"Ye-es," said Florence, doubtfully.

"Let's hurry and make the boats then. Which paper dolls shall we take? The ugliest, I think, because they will all be drowned anyhow; and don't let's take any pretty frocks, because we can make dolls to fit the frocks when these are drowned."

With paper boats, dolls and waterproofs they stole softly down the front stairs, and shutting the door after them very gently, ran around the house to the hogshead. The roses were heavy with rain, and the honeysuckle shook big drops on them, as they ran by.

The boats went topsy-turvy over the falls, upsetting the dolls, who went careering down the stream, to the great delight of the children.

They played till the last boat load was lost beyond all hope, and then, with wet feet and streaming sleeves, they crept back to the house.

"Now, what shall we do? It was lots of fun, Dimple," said Florence, "but I know your mother will scold, when she sees how wet our feet are, and your foot just well too, and see my sleeves. If we change our clothes she will wonder and then--What shall we do?"

"I don't think it was a bit of harm," said Dimple, determined to brave it out, "but it won't do to keep these wet frocks on. I know. We will go up into the attic, take them off, and hang them up to dry; then we can dress up in other things. There are trunks and boxes full of clothes up there, and we can play something."

"So we can," exclaimed Florence. "That is a perfectly lovely plan. Do you think our clothes will dry before supper?"

"Of course," said Dimple; "anyhow it will be funny to put on trains and things. Come on."

They raced up to the garret, and were soon diving into the boxes and trunks of winter clothing that Mrs. Dallas had packed away.

"Here," said Dimple, on her knees before a trunk, "take this skirt of mamma's," and she dragged out a cashmere skirt. "Florence, see what is in those band-boxes, and get us each a bonnet, while I hunt for a shawl or coat, or something."

After much tumbling up of clothing, she found what she wanted, and they had taken off their frocks when they heard Mrs. Dallas calling,

"Children, where are you?"

Both were silent for a moment, and stood with quickly beating hearts.

After a second call, Dimple mustered up courage to answer, "Up here, mamma."

"Where?"

"In the garret."

"What are you doing?"

"Just playing."

"Well, don't get into any mischief," came from the bottom of the stairs, and then Mrs. Dallas went off.

Presently there came another fright: a footstep on the stairs.

"Who is that?" asked Dimple, fearfully.

"Me," came the answer, as Bubbles' woolly head appeared.

"It is only Bubbles," said Dimple, much relieved. "Come up, Bubbles; we are dressing up, and you shall too; but if you dare to tell on us--off you go to the orphan asylum."

"I wouldn't tell fur nothin', Miss Dimple," said she, as Dimple threw her an old wrapper.

"I am going to be Lady Melrose, and Florence Lady Beckwith. You can be--Oh, Florence, let's dress Bubbles up in a coat and trousers, and have her for a footman."

"All right," said Florence, and shaking with laughter, Bubbles was attired in coat, trousers, and tall hat.

"Oh, she is too funny," said Florence, holding her sides. "Where is my bonnet?"

"That's mine," exclaimed Dimple, as Florence possessed herself of a bonnet with feathers in it.

"No, I chose this first," said Florence.

"Well, it's my mother's, I reckon, and I have the best right to it."

"Well, I'm company, and you're very impolite."

"I'm not," retorted Dimple, getting very red in the face.

"You are. I'd have my mother teach me how to behave, if I were you, Dimple Dallas."

"You horrid, red-headed thing!" cried Dimple, now thoroughly angry.