Chapter 6

NEW FACES.

The Cliffords lived a little way out of town. Mr. Parlin took a carriage at the depot, and he and Dotty had a very pleasant drive to "Aunt 'Ria's."

The little girl was rather travel-stained. Her gloves were somewhat ragged at the tips, from her habit of twitching them so much; and they were also badly soiled with fruit and candy. Her hair was as smooth as hands could make it; but alas for the "style" hat which had left Portland in triumph! It had reached Indiana in disgrace. Its tipsy appearance was due to getting stepped on, and being caught in showers. Dotty's neat travelling dress was defaced by six large grease spots. Where they had come from Dotty could not conjecture, unless "that sick lady with a bottle had spilled some of her cod-oil on it out of a spoon."

The child had intended to astonish her relatives by her tidy array; but, after all her pains, she had arrived out West in a very sorry plight.

"Now, which side must I look for the house, papa?"

"At your right hand, my dear. The first thing you will see is the conservatory, and then a stone house."

"My right hand," thought Dotty; "that's east; but which is my right hand?"

She always knew after she had thought a moment. It was the one which did not have the "shapest thumb;" that is, the _misshapen_ one she had pounded once by mistake, instead of an oilnut.

"O, yes, papa! See the flowers! the flowers! And only to think they don't know who's coming! P'rhaps they're drinking tea, or gone visiting, or something."

The Cliffords were not at tea. Grace and Cassy were reading "Our Boys and Girls" in the summer-house, with their heads close together; Horace was in the woods fishing; Mr. Clifford at his office; his wife in her chamber, ruffling a pink cambric frock for wee Katie, rocking as she sewed.

As for Katie, she was marching about the grounds under an old umbrella. It was only the skeleton of an umbrella--dry bones, wires, and a crooked handle. Through the open sides the little one was plainly to be seen; and Mr. Parlin thought she looked like that flower we have in our gardens, which peeps out from a host of little tendrils, and is called the "lady in the bower."

Hearing a carriage coming, the "lady in the bower" rushed to the gate, flourishing the black bones of the umbrella directly in the horse's face.

"Dotty has camed! She has camed!" shouted the little creature, dropping the umbrella, falling over it, springing up again, and running with flying feet to spread the news.

Nobody believed Dotty had "camed;" it seemed an improbable story; but Grace and Cassy had heard the wheels, and they ran through the avenue into the house to make sure it was nobody but one of the neighbors.

"Why, indeed, and indeed, it _is_ Dotty; and if here isn't Uncle Edward too!" cried Grace, tossing back her curls, and dancing down the front steps. "Ma, ma, here is Uncle Edward Parlin!"

"I sawed um first! I sawed um first!" screamed little Flyaway, thrusting the point of the umbrella between Dotty's feet, and throwing her over.

"Can I believe my eyes!" said Mrs. Clifford's voice from the head of the stairs; and down she rushed, with open arms, to greet her guests.

Then there was so much kissing, and so much talking, that nobody exactly knew what anybody else said; and Katie added to the confusion by fluttering in and out, and every now and then breaking into a musical laugh, which the mocking-bird, not to be outdone, caught up and echoed. It was a merry, merry meeting.

"You dee papa bringed you--didn't him, Dotty?" said Katie, flying at her cousin with the feather duster, as soon as Grace had taken away the umbrella, and pointing her remarks with the end of the handle.

"You's Uncle Eddard's baby--that's what is it."

"O, you darling Flyaway!" said Dotty, "if you _wouldn't_ stick that handle right _into_ my eyes!"

"I's going to give you sumpin!" returned Katie, putting her hand in her pocket, and producing a very soft orange, which had been used for a football. "It's a ollinge. _You_ can eat um, 'cause I gived um to you."

"Thank you, O, thank you. Flyaway: how glad I am to see you! You look just the same, and no different."

"O, no, I'm is growin' homely," replied the baby, cheerfully, "velly homely; Hollis said so."

By the time Dotty's crushed hat was off, and she had made herself ready for tea, trying to hide three of the six grease-spots with her hands, Horace appeared with a little birch switch across his shoulder, strung with fish. The fish were few and small; but Horace was just as tired, he said, as if he had caught a whale. He did not say he was glad to see his young cousin; but joy shone all over his face.

"We'll have times--won't we, little Topknot?" said he, taking Katie up between his fingers, as if she had been a pinch of snuff.

"Is you _found_ of ollinges, Dotty?" asked Flyaway, with an anxious glance at the yellow fruit in Dotty's hand, still untasted.

After tea the orange lay on the lounge.

"I's goin' to give you a ollinge," said Katie, presenting it again, as if it were a new one. But after she had given it away three times, she thought her duty was done.

"If you please um," said she, coaxingly, "I dess _I'll_ eat a slice o' that ollinge."

So she had the whole.

"Dotty, have you seen Phebe?" asked Horace.

"No; where does she live?"

"O, out in the kitchen. Prudy saw her when she was here, ever so long ago. She hasn't faded any since."

"O, now I remember, she's a niggro, as black as a _sip_."

"Yes; come out and see her. She's famous for making candy. She learned that of Barby."

"Who is Barby?"

"The Dutch girl we had before Katinka came."

Dotty went into the kitchen with Horace to watch the candy-making. This was a favorite method with him of entertaining visitors.

Phebe Dolan was a young colored girl, who had a very desirable home at Mrs. Clifford's, but who always persisted in going about the house in a dejected manner, as if some one had treated her unkindly. For all that, she was very happy; and under her solemn face was a deal of quiet fun.

Katinka Dinkelspiel was a good-natured German girl, with a face as round as a full moon, and eyes as expressive as two blots of blue paint. She wore her fair hair rolled in front on each side into a puff like a capital O. Dotty looked at her in surprise. She was very unlike Norah, who wore bright ribbons on her head. And Katinka talked broken English, stirring up her words in such a way that the sentences were like Chinese puzzles; they needed to be taken apart and put together differently.

"Please to make the door too," she said to Horace; and it was half a minute before Dotty understood that she was asking him to shut it.

"This is my cousin Dotty Dimple, girls; the handsomest of the family; but not the best one--are you, though?" at the same time giving Miss Dimple a chair.

"How d'ye, miss?" said Phebe, mournfully.

Katinka said nothing, but patted the letter O on the right side of her head.

"O, Phib, my mother says if you are not too tired, you may make some candy; she said so, candidly."

Horace was just old enough to delight in puns.

Now, this was a pleasant message to Phebe; she would have been glad to keep her fingers in molasses half the time. Still it seemed to Dotty, as she saw the rolling of the black eyes, that Phebe was quite discouraged.

"I s'pose she doesn't like candy," thought she; "I heard of a girl once that didn't."

Rolling her sad eyes again and again, Phebe went to draw the molasses, and soon had it boiling on the stove.

"There," said Horace, rubbing his hands, "I told Dotty if anybody knew how to make candy 'twas Phebe Dolan. Give us the nut-cracker, and I'll have the pecans ready in no time."

This time Phebe's eyes twinkled. As soon as the molasses would pour from the spoon in just the right way, with little films like spiders' webs floating from it, then Phebe said it was done, and Horace called Grace and Cassy. Phebe stirred in some soda with an air of solemnity, then poured half the contents of the kettle into a buttered platter, and the other half into a second platter lined with pecan-meats. Then she took the whole out of doors to cool.

"I'll tell you what I'm thinking about," said Dotty, as the girl left the room;--"what has she got on her head?"

"Why, hair, to be sure," replied Grace.

"Wool, I should call it," corrected Horace.

"Because I didn't know," faltered Dotty,--"I didn't know but 'twas a wig."

"What made you think 'twas a wig, Dotty?"

"O, there was a man wore one in the cars; it looked just like anybody's hair, only he tied it on with a button. He knew you and Horace."

"Me and Horace? Who could it have been?"

"He's the major; his name is Lazelle."

"O, I remember him," said Grace and Horace together. "Does he wear a wig? He isn't old at all."

"He _calls_ himself 'an old mustache,'" returned Dotty, "for he said so to me. He wears one of those _hair-lips_, and a wig."

"And he's as blind as a post?"

"O, no, he can see things now. I liked him, for he gave me all the apples and peaches I could eat."

"I reckon it did him good to go to the war," exclaimed Horace, "for I remember, when I was a little fellow, how he boxed my ears!"

"He has suffered a great deal since then," said the gentle Cassy, thoughtfully. "You know people generally grow better by suffering."

"Dotty dear, you can't keep your eyes open," said Grace, after the candy had been pulled. "I don't believe it will make _you_ any better to suffer. I'm going to put you to bed."

"And here I am," thought Dotty, as she laid her tired head on the pillow, "out West, under a sketo bar. Got here safe. I ought to have thanked God a little harder in my prayer."