“Mamma’ll be just as patient with me,” thought Dotty; “she always is!  But if I once get home, I’ll never make her patient any more.  I’ll never run away again; not unless she asks me to—­I won’t.”

The children, as fast as they finished their suppers, jumped up and ran away from the table—­all but Solly, who had some faint idea that it was not polite to do so before company.  He was a natural gentleman; and it was unfortunate that just at this time his mother was obliged to send him to Munjoy of an errand.  Otherwise he would have made his sister give up Dotty’s hat, and perhaps would have walked home with the unhappy child himself.

As it was, Dotty did not seem to have a friend in the world.  It was now so dark that she hardly dared look out of doors; but even in the brightest daylight she could not have found her way home.

“You’ve got to stay all night,” said Mandoline.  “Isn’t that splendid?”

Mandoline did not mean to be cruel.  She had observed that her mother urged her own guests to stay, and sometimes kept them almost by force.  This she supposed was true politeness.  More than that, she was anxious, for private reasons, to hold Dotty, so she might not have to knit so much.  She knew, too, that her mother was proud to have such a well-bred little girl in the house.  So she would not give up Dotty’s hat.

At eight o’clock, Dotty went to bed with Mandoline in the unfinished chamber, sorely against her will; and Mandoline told her such dreadful stories that she could not close her eyes for fright.

“This is the queerest house I was ever in,” thought she, “and the queerest bed.  I s’pose it’s made of pin-feathers, for they stick into me awfully.”

The bed was on the floor, and was founded upon woolsacks and buffalo skins.  The sleeping arrangements in this house were somewhat peculiar.  Mrs. Rosenberg was like the old woman in the shoe, and she stowed her numerous family away for the night in as little space as possible.  For instance, the four youngest children slept together in one trundle-bed, two at the top and two at the bottom, their feet coming together in the middle.  But Mandoline had left the trundle bed, and was lying on the floor with her guest.  The companion the trundle-bed—­little Kosina—­was quite indignant at being deserted, and made a loud outcry, in the hope of attracting her mother’s attention.

“I don’t want to sleep alone!” said she; “I don’t want to sleep alo-o-one!”

At another time Dotty would have laughed heartily.  It was so absurd for a child to be lonesome when there were three in the bed!  But Dotty was too low-spirited even to smile.  Mrs. Rosenberg came up and boxed Rosina’s ears; and after that the trundle-bed subsided.

At last, when Dotty supposed it must be midnight, though it was only nine o’clock, there came a loud knocking at the side door.  She hid her face under the coverlet, feeling sure it was either a wild Indian or a highway robber.