from the
party, and found her way up-stairs to Mrs. Pragoff's room. There, on the
outside of the bed, lay Fly, half undressed, and still very pale.

"Gas-light makes folks look _gas_-ly," thought Dotty, "but she isn't
much sick, or Horace wouldn't have eaten any dinner. There, when I first
got a peek at this bed-quilt, I thought it was so queer; and now I'm
going to see what it's made of."

Instead of a common coverlet, the bed was adorned with two enormous
crimson satin cushions stuffed with swan's down. The cushion on the
lower half of the bed was two feet deep, to cover the lower part of the
body, and the one at the upper part not quite so thick, for it was to
cover the shoulders. Then a sheet of the finest linen was turned over at
the top and sides, and buttoned on to the cushions. The pillows were of
crimson silk, the bedstead enormously high, and carved all over with
figures of gods and goddesses.

Dotty stood gazing with surprise, and almost forgetting her trouble.

"She must have brought it over from Poland when she ran away, only it's
so heavy. But then I don't s'pose she ran on foot. Came in the night, in
the cars, prob'ly. Poland's up by the North Pole. I'm going to ask
auntie about it."

But the moment auntie came into her thoughts Dotty was wretched again.
She went to a window, drew back the damask curtain, and gazed out.

"The night came on alone,
The little stars sat, one by one,
Each on his golden throne."

"Those stars twinkle like auntie's rings. Let's see: one was full of
little pieces of glass, about as big as raspberry seeds. I shouldn't
think glass would cost much. And the other was red, like a drop of
blood, with ice frozen over it. That can't be so expensive, should you
think, as a string of beads?"

Dotty tried hard to comfort herself, but could not stay comforted.

"You don't s'pose auntie's jewels cost more than my papa is worth? How
he must feel to be so poor! If he has to pay for those rings, we shan't
get enough to eat. Have to live on crackers and olives. And when we come
to the table, father will look at me, and say, 'This is on the account
of your naughty conduct, child!' O, dear! I can't speak one word, for it
will be true, what he says. Grandma Read will have enough to eat; Norah
will set it on her end of the table. Grandma is rich; I've seen her
counting over bills in her desk; but how could I ask her for any, when
she'd look right in my eyes, and say, 'What was