could have answered
better.

I thought a minute, and then said, "Fel," for I knew she liked her
best of all the little folks.

"Very well," said mother, and went on stretching the carpet.

Fel came so often that it was hardly worth mentioning.

"But, mamma, there's somebody else coming, too. It's--it's--Dunie
Foster."

Dunie was a lady-child, almost as well-behaved as Fel.

"Ah! I'd rather have her come some other time. But run away, dear, you
are troubling me. Take the little girls into the dining-room. I want
the sitting-room kept nice for callers."

I couldn't get my mouth open to say another word. Three o'clock was
the usual hour for little girls to go to parties, and I flew into the
kitchen to ask Ruth what time it was.

"Two o'clock," she said.

"And in an hour would it be three? How many minutes was an hour? Did
that jelly boil fast enough? Did jelly bake all hard in the little
glass cups so you could eat it the same day--the same night for
supper? Was there any cooked chicken in the house, with breastings in
(stuffing)? Any sandiges? Why didn't Ruthie make sandiges? Do it very
easy. Why didn't Ruthie make sailor-boy doughnuts? _I_ could sprinkle
the sugar on 'em, see 'f I couldn't."

In the midst of my troublesome chatter Abner came around to the
kitchen door with the horse and wagon, saying he was going to mill,
and would Tot like to go, too?

"Will you be back by three o'clock?" said I.

"Yes; it won't take me half an hour."

"I wonder what's the child's notion of watching the clock so snug,"
remarked Ruth, as I was darting into the parlor to ask if I might go
to mill.

As I rode along with Abner, and felt the soft summer air blow on my
face, and saw the friendly trees nodding "Good day," it seemed as if I
had left trouble behind me. What was the use in going back to it? I
had half a mind to run away.

"I didn't want to stay and see those little girls starve to death. No
place but the 'dine-room' and the barn to play in! Be tied to the
bed-post for it too! Ought to be! Wicked-bad-girl! But would mamma tie
me any _shorter_ if I staid away till the moon came up? And then the
girls 'd be gone! Get away from Abner just 's easy! He'll be a talkin'
to the man 'th flour on his coat, then he'll look round an' I'll be
gone, an' he'll say, 'That child's _persest_'; he always says
'_persest_,' and then he'll go home and forget."

But stop a minute; what would the girls think?

"They'll think me v