Dotty Dimple at Her Grandmothers | Page 8

she opened the lids of her basket with a dismal creak, and took
out her knitting, which was as gray as a November sky. Afterwards she
slowly pinned a corn-cob to the right side of her belt, and began to knit.
At the end of every needle she drew a deep breath, and felt the stocking
carefully to make sure there were no "nubs" in it. She talked about the
"severe drowth" and some painful cases of sickness, after which she
took out her snuff-box, and then the three ladies saw that she had
something particular to say.
"Where is your little boy, Maria?"
She always called Mrs. Clifford Maria, for she had known her from a
baby.
"Horace is at Augusta; I left him there the other day."

"Yes," said Polly, settling her mournful black cap, "so I heard! I was
very, very sorry," and she shook her head dolefully, as if it had been a
bell and she were tolling it--"very, very sorry!"
Mrs. Clifford could not but wonder why.
"It is a dreadful thing to happen in a family! I'm sure, Maria, I never
heard that stealing was natural to either side of the house!"
"Stealing!" echoed Mrs. Clifford.
"What in this world can you mean, Polly Whiting?" said Aunt Louise,
laughing nervously; for she was a very lively young lady, and laughed
a great deal. Miss Whiting thought this was no time for jokes. Her
mouth twitched downward as if there were strings at the corners. Mrs.
Clifford had turned very pale.
"Poll," said she, "do speak, and tell me what you have heard? It is all a
mystery to me."
"You don't say so," said Miss Whiting, looking relieved. "Well, I didn't
more than half believe it myself; but the story is going that your Horace
stole his Aunt Louise's breastpin, and sold it to a peddler for a rusty
gun."
Miss Louise laughed merrily this time.
"I did lose my pearl brooch," said she, "but Prudy found it yesterday in
an old glass candlestick."
"What an absurd report!" said Mrs. Clifford, quite annoyed. "I hope the
children are not to be suspected every time their Aunt Louise misses
anything!"
"They said you had decided to take Horace to the Reform School,"
added Miss Whiting, "but your friends begged you to leave him at
Augusta in somebody's house locked up, with bread and water to eat."
"Now tell me where you heard all this," said Aunt Louise.

"Why, Mrs. Grant told me that Mrs. Small said that Mrs. Gordon told
her. I hope you'll excuse me for speaking of it: but I thought you ought
to know."
Miss Polly Whiting was a harmless woman, who went from family to
family doing little "jobs" of work. She never said what was not true, did
no mischief, and in her simple way was quite attached to the Parlins.
"I heard something more that made me very angry," said she, following
Miss Louise into the pantry. "Mrs. Grant says Mrs. Gray is very much
surprised to find your mother doesn't give good measure when she sells
milk!"
Aunt Louise was so indignant at this that she went at once and told her
mother.
"It is a little too much to be borne," said she; "the neighbors may invent
stories about Horace, if they have nothing better to do, but they shall
not slander my mother!"
The two little girls, who were the unconscious cause of all this mischief,
were just returning from Mrs. Gray's.
"O, grandma," said Dotty, coming in with the empty pail; "she says she
don't want any more milk this summer, and I'm ever so glad! Come,
Prudy, let's go and swing."
"Stop," said Mrs. Parlin; "why does Mrs. Gray say she wants no more
milk?"
"'Cause," replied Dotty, "'cause our cow is dry, or their cow is dry, or
Mrs. Gordon has some to sell. I don't know what she told me, grandma;
I've forgot!"
"Then, my dear, she did not say you brought too little milk?"
Dotty winced. "No, grandma, she never."
"Ruth," said Mrs. Parlin, "you are sure you have always measured the

milk in that largest quart, and thrown in a gill or two more, as I
directed?"
"O, yes, ma'am, I've never failed."
"Then I'm sure I cannot understand it," said Mrs. Parlin, her gentle face
looking troubled.
"Unless the children may have spilled some," remarked Mrs. Clifford.
"Dotty, have you ever allowed little Katie to carry the pail?"
"No, Dotty don't; her don't 'low me care nuffin--there now!" cried Katie,
very glad to tell her sorrows.
"She's so little, you know, Aunt 'Ria," murmured Dotty, with her hand
on the door-latch.
There was a struggle going on in Dotty's mind. She wished very much
to run away, and at the same time