Dotty Dimple's Flyaway Part 9

"One had a raisin in and a b.u.t.ton, and n.o.body but me would have thought of looking. You wouldn't--now would you? My father says I've got such sharp eyes!"

"H'm!" said Dotty, who considered her own eyes as bright as any diamonds; "you took the saddle-bag right out of my hand. How do you know I shouldn't have peeked in?"

Jennie did not reply, but smoothed out the wrinkled notes with many a loving pat.

"What did grandma say?" asked Dotty; "wasn't she pleased?"

"Your grandmother doesn't know anything about it, Dotty Dimple; what business is it to her?"

Jennie's tone was defiant. She a.s.sumed a courage she was far from feeling.

Dotty was speechless with surprise, but her eyes grew as round as soap-bubbles.

"The pockets don't belong to her, Dotty, and never did. They never came out of any of her dresses--now did they?"

Dotty's eyes swelled like a couple of bubbles ready to burst.

"Jennie Vance, I didn't know you's a thief."

"You stop talking so, Dotty. She was going to sweep everything into the rag-bag--now wasn't she? And this money would have gone in too, if it hadn't been for my sharp eyes--now wouldn't it?"

"But it isn't yours, Jennie Vance--because it don't belong to you."

"Now, Dotty--"

"You go right off, Jennie Vance, and carry it to my grandma this minute."

The tone of command irritated Jennie. She had not felt at all decided about keeping the money, but opposition gave her courage. Her temper and Dotty's were always meeting and striking fire.

"It isn't your grandma's pockets, Miss Parlin. If it was the last word I was to speak, it isn't your grandmother's pockets!"

"Jane Sidney Vance!"

"You needn't call me by my middle name, and stare so at me, Dotty Dimple. I was going to give you half!"

"What do I want of half, when it isn't yours to give?" said Dotty, gazing regretfully at the money, nevertheless. Three dollars! Why, it was a small fortune! If it only did really belong to Jenny!

"Your grandmother said everything we liked the looks of, Dotty. Don't you like the looks of this?"

"But you know, Jennie--"

"O, you needn't preach to me. You wasn't the one that found it. If I'd truly been a thief, or if I hadn't been a thief, it would have been right for me to keep it, and perfectly proper, and not said a word to you, either; so there."

"Jennie Vance, I'm going right out of this closet, and tell my grandma what you've said."

"Wait, Dotty Dimple; let me get through talking. I meant to buy things for your grandmother with it. O, yes, I did--a silk dress, and cap, and shoes."

Dotty twirled her hair, and looked thoughtful.

"Of course I did. Wouldn't it surprise her, when she wasn't expecting it? And Flyaway, too,--something for her. We wouldn't keep anything for ourselves, only just enough to buy clothes and such things as we really need."

Before Dotty had time to reply there was a loud scream from the parlor.

"Fly is killed--she is killed!" cried Dotty; but Jennie had presence of mind enough to tuck the bills into the neck of her dress.

"Don't you tell anybody a word about it, Dotty. If you tell I'll do something awful to you. Do you hear?"

Dotty heard, but did not answer. The fate of her cousin Flyaway seemed more important to her just then than all the bank-bills in the world.

CHAPTER VII.

THE WICKED GIRL.

Flyaway had only been climbing the outside of the staircase, and would have done very well, if some one had not rung the door-bell, and startled her so that she fell from the very top stair to the floor. It was feared, at first, that several bones were broken and her intellect injured for life; but after crying fifteen minutes, she seemed to feel nearly as well as before.

"If ever a child was made of thistle-down it is Flyaway Clifford,"

said aunt Louise.

Still it was not thought best for her to fatigue herself that day by selling rags, and the wheelbarrow enterprise was put off until the next morning.

The person who rang the door-bell was Mrs. Vance's girl Susan, who called for Jennie to go home and try on a frock. Jennie did not return, and Dotty had a sense of uneasiness all day. The guilty secret of the three dollars weighed upon her mind. Should she, or should she not, tell her grandmother?

"I don't know but Jennie would do something to my things if I told,"

thought she; "but then I never promised a word. Here it is four o'clock. Who knows but she's gone and spent that money, and my grandmother never'll know what's 'come of it?"

This possibility was very alarming. "Jennie Vance doesn't seem to have any little whisper inside of _her_ heart, that ticks like a watch; but _I_ have. _My_ conscience p.r.i.c.ks; so I know that perhaps it's my duty to go and tell."

Dotty drew herself up virtuously and looked in the gla.s.s. There she seemed to see an angelic little girl, whose only wish was to do just right--a little girl as much purer than Jennie Vance, as a lily is purer than a very ugly toadstool.

Well, Miss Dotty, there is some truth in the picture. Jennie is not a good child; but neither are you an angel. There is more wickedness in your proud little heart than you will ever begin to find out. And wait a minute. Who teaches you all you know of right and wrong? Is it your mother? Suppose she had died, as did Jennie's mamma, when you were a toddling baby?

There, that's all; you do not hear a word I say; and if you did, you would not heed, O, self-righteous Dotty Dimple!

Dotty ran up stairs to find her grandmother.

"Grandma," whispered she, though there was no one else in the room; "something dreadful has happened. You've lost three dollars!"

"What, dear?"

"O, you needn't look in your pocket. Jennie found 'em in the rag-bag, and tried to make me take half; but of course I never; and now she's run off with 'em!"

"Found three dollars in the rag-bag? I guess not."

"Yes, grandma; for I saw her just as she was going to find em', in a pair of pockets. I should have seen 'em myself if she hadn't looked first."