"

"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. "I'd
like to know how you would look in a garnet velvet bonnet anyhow. You'd
better take something that's not quite so near the color of your hair."

"My hair isn't red, it's auburn," said Florence, bursting into a sob,
"and I'm not going to stay here another minute. I'm going straight home
to my mother." And she tore off the clothes in which she had decked
herself, leaving them in a heap on the floor. She snatched up her wet
frock and ran downstairs.

Dimple sat quite still after Florence left her. She did not dare to go
downstairs for fear of encountering her mother, and yet, suppose
Florence should really mean to go home. How dreadful! She considered the
question till she could bear it no longer, and, slowly putting on her
own clothes, she crept downstairs, hoping as she went from room to room
that she would find Florence. She even peeped cautiously in upon her
mother, busy with her sewing, but no Florence was to be seen.

"Perhaps she has started to go home," Dimple said to herself, in real
alarm.