Dotty Dimple Out West Part 8

"You dee papa bringed you--didn't him, Dotty?" said Katie, flying at her cousin with the feather duster, as soon as Grace had taken away the umbrella, and pointing her remarks with the end of the handle.

"You's Uncle Eddard's baby--that's what is it."

"O, you darling Flyaway!" said Dotty, "if you _wouldn't_ stick that handle right _into_ my eyes!"

"I's going to give you sumpin!" returned Katie, putting her hand in her pocket, and producing a very soft orange, which had been used for a football. "It's a ollinge. _You_ can eat um, 'cause I gived um to you."

"Thank you, O, thank you. Flyaway: how glad I am to see you! You look just the same, and no different."

"O, no, I'm is growin' homely," replied the baby, cheerfully, "velly homely; Hollis said so."

By the time Dotty's crushed hat was off, and she had made herself ready for tea, trying to hide three of the six grease-spots with her hands, Horace appeared with a little birch switch across his shoulder, strung with fish. The fish were few and small; but Horace was just as tired, he said, as if he had caught a whale. He did not say he was glad to see his young cousin; but joy shone all over his face.

"We'll have times--won't we, little Topknot?" said he, taking Katie up between his fingers, as if she had been a pinch of snuff.

"Is you _found_ of ollinges, Dotty?" asked Flyaway, with an anxious glance at the yellow fruit in Dotty's hand, still untasted.

After tea the orange lay on the lounge.

"I's goin' to give you a ollinge," said Katie, presenting it again, as if it were a new one. But after she had given it away three times, she thought her duty was done.

"If you please um," said she, coaxingly, "I dess _I'll_ eat a slice o'

that ollinge."

So she had the whole.

"Dotty, have you seen Phebe?" asked Horace.

"No; where does she live?"

"O, out in the kitchen. Prudy saw her when she was here, ever so long ago. She hasn't faded any since."

"O, now I remember, she's a niggro, as black as a _sip_."

"Yes; come out and see her. She's famous for making candy. She learned that of Barby."

"Who is Barby?"

"The Dutch girl we had before Katinka came."

Dotty went into the kitchen with Horace to watch the candy-making. This was a favorite method with him of entertaining visitors.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MAKING MOLa.s.sES CANDY.--Page 92.]

Phebe Dolan was a young colored girl, who had a very desirable home at Mrs. Clifford's, but who always persisted in going about the house in a dejected manner, as if some one had treated her unkindly. For all that, she was very happy; and under her solemn face was a deal of quiet fun.

Katinka d.i.n.kelspiel was a good-natured German girl, with a face as round as a full moon, and eyes as expressive as two blots of blue paint. She wore her fair hair rolled in front on each side into a puff like a capital O. Dotty looked at her in surprise. She was very unlike Norah, who wore bright ribbons on her head. And Katinka talked broken English, stirring up her words in such a way that the sentences were like Chinese puzzles; they needed to be taken apart and put together differently.

"Please to make the door too," she said to Horace; and it was half a minute before Dotty understood that she was asking him to shut it.

"This is my cousin Dotty Dimple, girls; the handsomest of the family; but not the best one--are you, though?" at the same time giving Miss Dimple a chair.

"How d'ye, miss?" said Phebe, mournfully.

Katinka said nothing, but patted the letter O on the right side of her head.

"O, Phib, my mother says if you are not too tired, you may make some candy; she said so, candidly."

Horace was just old enough to delight in puns.

Now, this was a pleasant message to Phebe; she would have been glad to keep her fingers in mola.s.ses half the time. Still it seemed to Dotty, as she saw the rolling of the black eyes, that Phebe was quite discouraged.

"I s'pose she doesn't like candy," thought she; "I heard of a girl once that didn't."

Rolling her sad eyes again and again, Phebe went to draw the mola.s.ses, and soon had it boiling on the stove.

"There," said Horace, rubbing his hands, "I told Dotty if anybody knew how to make candy 'twas Phebe Dolan. Give us the nut-cracker, and I'll have the pecans ready in no time."

This time Phebe's eyes twinkled. As soon as the mola.s.ses would pour from the spoon in just the right way, with little films like spiders' webs floating from it, then Phebe said it was done, and Horace called Grace and Ca.s.sy. Phebe stirred in some soda with an air of solemnity, then poured half the contents of the kettle into a b.u.t.tered platter, and the other half into a second platter lined with pecan-meats. Then she took the whole out of doors to cool.

"I'll tell you what I'm thinking about," said Dotty, as the girl left the room;--"what has she got on her head?"

"Why, hair, to be sure," replied Grace.

"Wool, I should call it," corrected Horace.

"Because I didn't know," faltered Dotty,--"I didn't know but 'twas a wig."

"What made you think 'twas a wig, Dotty?"

"O, there was a man wore one in the cars; it looked just like anybody's hair, only he tied it on with a b.u.t.ton. He knew you and Horace."

"Me and Horace? Who could it have been?"

"He's the major; his name is Lazelle."

"O, I remember him," said Grace and Horace together. "Does he wear a wig? He isn't old at all."

"He _calls_ himself 'an old mustache,'" returned Dotty, "for he said so to me. He wears one of those _hair-lips_, and a wig."

"And he's as blind as a post?"

"O, no, he can see things now. I liked him, for he gave me all the apples and peaches I could eat."

"I reckon it did him good to go to the war," exclaimed Horace, "for I remember, when I was a little fellow, how he boxed my ears!"

"He has suffered a great deal since then," said the gentle Ca.s.sy, thoughtfully. "You know people generally grow better by suffering."

"Dotty dear, you can't keep your eyes open," said Grace, after the candy had been pulled. "I don't believe it will make _you_ any better to suffer. I'm going to put you to bed."