"Bubbles," she said, "papa never said you mustn't go near that house,
did he?"

"No 'm."

"Well, just go peep in and tell me what it looks like. From the looks of
the outside, I should say that it is nearly done. You peep in at the
window."

Bubbles obeyed, and came back with the information. "Hit's got a flo'
an' a stove."

"Ah!" Dimple pondered. "Oh yes, that's to keep the baby chicks warm, I
suppose. I wish I could see for myself. Is that all, Bubbles?"

"Yass 'm."

"I wish I hadn't told you to peep in," Dimple remarked, after a pause.
"I don't believe it was quite honest for me to do it, and I'll have to
be uncomfortable till I tell mamma or papa. You oughtn't to have peeped,
Bubbles."

"Yuh tole me to."

"So I did, but--well, you shouldn't have done it, just the same."

Bubbles rolled her eyes reproachfully, and began to mutter.

"There, never mind. It wasn't your fault," Dimple confessed, hastily.
But although Bubbles' countenance cleared, Dimple herself did not feel
at ease till she had told her mother, which she did that night at
bedtime.

"It was not right," her mother told her, "and was a bad example to
Bubbles. That is where the trouble often comes in. Not so much in the
actual wrong we do, but its effect upon others."

"I do want to see, so very much. Papa never made it so hard for me
before."

"I know it, dear. I have realized very clearly all along how hard it
must be for you, but I think when you do know you will be so pleased
that you will forget this part of it. I am glad my little girlie was
brave enough to tell of her asking Bubbles to peep."

And kissing her good-night, Mrs. Dallas left her little girl feeling
comforted.

CHAPTER III

A Quarrel

"Raining! Isn't that too bad?" said Florence, leaning on one elbow in
bed, and looking out of the window.

"Hm, hm," said Dimple, sleepily, from her pillow.

Florence slipped out of bed and stood looking dolefully at the falling
drops.

"What do you suppose the birds do, Dimple?" she asked, going up to her,
and softly shaking her.

"Oh," said Dimple, now awake, and sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes,
"I suppose they get under the leaves just as we do under an umbrella, or
they go under the eaves, and places like that. I have seen them lots of
times. It is raining, isn't it, Florence?"

"I said so, long ago," answered Florence; "now we can't go out of doors
to play, and it is so nice outdoors. I don't see the sense of i