ng-room, Dotty took her "white tea" in the parlor, in queenly state.

Prudy had eaten half a thin slice of toast, when the long and sharp
ringing of the tea-bell summoned her into the parlor.

"And what would you like, Miss Dimple?" said the remarkably obliging
doctor, with a low bow.

"More jelly," replied the patient, holding up the empty glass, "and some
squince marmalade."

After obeying this request, Prudy went back to her supper, and had just
finished her slice of bread, when the bell struck again.

This time there was "that old spin-wheel in the chimney again,"--so the
patient said,--and a book in the what-not wrong side up, looking "as if
it would choke."

The book was set right; but the noise in the chimney was too much for
the doctor's skill, since neither she nor any one else knew its cause.

Next sounded a furious peal of the bell, and a series of loud screams
from the little sick girl. She had been dreadfully stung by a bee, which
had buzzed its way out from the fireboard. Strange to tell, there was a
swarm of bees in the chimney, instead of "a spin-wheel."

Abner at once mounted to the roof of the house, and peeped into the
chimney. A nice, cosy beehive it made, filled to the throat with waxen
cells.

Dotty bore her sufferings sweetly, being sustained by the promise of a
large box of honey, by and by.

"Bees have a 'sweet, sweet home,' I think," said Susy.

"So do ants when they get in the sugar-box," rejoined Prudy.

As night approached, Dotty showed symptoms of croup.

"I think," said her grandmother, "it will be the safest way to give her
some castor-oil and molasses; that is what her father used to take when
he was a little boy."

Dotty pouted. "Dirty, slippy castor-oil," she cried, shaking her
elbows--a thing she seldom did now. "I shan't let it go in my throat.
I'll bite my teeth togedder tight."

"Alice," said her grandmother, "is that the proper way to speak to me?"

The child's face cleared in a moment.

"I wasn't a-speakin' to you, grandma," said she, sweetly; "I was a
talkin' to the dust-pan."

"O, Dotty Parlin!" cried Prudy, much distressed. "Nobody ever talked to
the dust-pan, in all the days of their lives! I always thought you were
a good girl, Dotty, but now I am afraid you tell false fibs!"

Dotty clung about Prudy like a sweet pea, and peeped into her eyes with
a pleading look.

"Say, do you love me, Prudy? For I'm goin' to let the oil slip right
down my throat, j