Dotty Dimple at Her Grandmothers | Page 3

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