ep off the flies, as she thought.

"I was defful sick," said she; "and did I ask the Polly woman for the
stawbollies? No, she was naughty; _I_ didn't want 'em. She gived me
stawbollies and stawbollies."

Prudy had to hear over and over again the trials which both the children
had suffered. She had had a delightful time herself, as she always did
have, wherever she was. She told Dotty and Flyaway of several
interesting events which had happened; but, best of all, she had brought
them a quantity of beautiful shells, which they were to divide with
Ruthie. The brisk Ruth had come back again as energetic as ever. It
proved that her mother had not been so very ill, after all.

"Bless that Prudy's little white heart," said she, kissing her on both
cheeks; "she never forgets anybody but herself."

Ruthie did not praise children as a general thing; but she loved Prudy
in spite of herself.

Aunt Maria had brought Dotty a beautiful doll. "Because," said she, "I
knew you would try to take good care of my little Katie."

"O, thank you ever so much, Aunt 'Ria," cried Dotty, handing the dolly
at once to Prudy to be admired. But next minute her conscience pricked
her. She had no right to a present. True, Katie ought to have known
better than to try to swim; still, as Dotty acknowledged,--

"I needn't have felt so sober, I s'pose, and then I should have taken
care of her."

Dotty was learning to pay heed to these little pricks of conscience.
Slowly and sadly she walked back to her Aunt Maria, who was standing on
the piazza training the clematis.

"I s'pose, auntie, you thought I took care of the baby; but I didn't. I
let her swim. Miss Polly said _she_ had the 'blues,' and so did I."

Aunt Maria smiled. "Very well," said she; "then keep the doll as a
recompense for the suffering you have endured. I hope you will not see
two such gloomy days again during the summer."

"O, you darling auntie! May I keep the dolly?"

There was no sting now to mar Dotty's pleasure in her new possession.
Her troubles seemed to be over; life was blossoming into beauty once
more.

"Good news! Good news!" she cried, rushing into the house, her head,
with its multitude of curl-papers, looking like a huge corn-ball. "Two
duckies have pecked out!"

"You don't say so!" said Susy, coolly. "High time, I should think!"

So thought the patient and astonished old hen, who had been wondering
every day for a week if this wasn't an uncommonly "backward se