"They said you had decided to take Horace to the Reform School," added
Miss Whiting, "but your friends begged you to leave him at Augusta in
somebody's house locked up, with bread and water to eat."

"Now tell me where you heard all this," said Aunt Louise.

"Why, Mrs. Grant told me that Mrs. Small said that Mrs. Gordon told
_her_. I hope you'll excuse me for speaking of it: but I thought you
ought to know."

Miss Polly Whiting was a harmless woman, who went from family to family
doing little "jobs" of work. She never said what was not true, did no
mischief, and in her simple way was quite attached to the Parlins.

"I heard something more that made me very angry," said she, following
Miss Louise into the pantry. "Mrs. Grant says Mrs. Gray is very much
surprised to find your mother doesn't give good measure when she sells
milk!"

Aunt Louise was so indignant at this that she went at once and told her
mother.

"It is a little too much to be borne," said she; "the neighbors may
invent stories about Horace, if they have nothing better to do, but they
shall not slander my mother!"

The two little girls, who were the unconscious cause of all this
mischief, were just returning from Mrs. Gray's.

"O, grandma," said Dotty, coming in with the empty pail; "she says she
don't want any more milk this summer, and I'm ever so glad! Come, Prudy,
let's go and swing."

"Stop," said Mrs. Parlin; "why does Mrs. Gray say she wants no more
milk?"

"'Cause," replied Dotty, "'cause our cow is dry, or their cow is dry, or
Mrs. Gordon has some to sell. I don't know what she told me, grandma;
I've forgot!"

"Then, my dear, she did not say you brought too little milk?"

Dotty winced. "No, grandma, she never."

"Ruth," said Mrs. Parlin, "you are sure you have always measured the
milk in that largest quart, and thrown in a gill or two more, as I
directed?"

"O, yes, ma'am, I've never failed."

"Then I'm sure I cannot understand it," said Mrs. Parlin, her gentle
face looking troubled.

"Unless the children may have spilled some," remarked Mrs. Clifford.
"Dotty, have you ever allowed little Katie to carry the pail?"

"No, Dotty don't; her don't 'low me care nuffin--there now!" cried
Katie, very glad to tell her sorrows.

"She's so little, you know, Aunt 'Ria," murmured Dotty, with her hand on
the door-latch.

There was a struggle going on in Dotty's mind. She wished very much to
run away, and at the same time that "voice" whi