“There, there; you’re a pretty sight now, Dotty Dimple!  What if you should freeze so!  Come along and behave.”

“I can’t, I can’t!”

“If you don’t, Dotty, I’ll have to go into that barber’s shop.  I know the man, and I’ll make him carry you home piggerback”

“Well, if I’ve got to go, I’ll go,” said Dotty, rousing herself, and starting; “but I’d rather be dead, over’n over; and wish I was; so there!”

CHAPTER VIII.

PLAYING THIEF.

This day was the longest one to be found in the almanac; it was longer than all the line of railroad from Maine to Indiana and back again.

Dotty shut her lips together, and suffered in silence.  But when the afternoon was half spent, it suddenly occurred to her that if she did not go home she should die.  Soldiers had died of homesickness, for she had heard her father say so.  She had not been able to swallow a mouthful of dinner, and that fact was of itself rather alarming.

“Perhaps I’m going to have the typo.  Any way, my head aches.  Besides, my papa didn’t say I mustn’t go home.  He said I must finish my visit, and I have.  O, I’ve finished that all up, ever and ever and ever so long ago.”

She and Mandoline went out again to “breathe,” Mrs. Rosenberg giving her daughter a warning glance from the doorway, which meant, “Be watchful, Mandy!” for the look of fixed despair on the little prisoner’s face gave the woman some anxiety lest she should try to escape.

The unhappy child walked on in silence, twisting a lock of her front hair, and looking up at the sky.  A few soft snow-flakes were dropping out of the clouds.  Every flake seemed to fall on her heart.  Winter was coming.  It was a gray, miserable world, and she was left out in the cold.  She remembered she had been happy once, but that was ages ago.  It wasn’t likely she should ever smile again; and as for laughter, she knew that was over with her forever.  Susy and Prudy were at home, making book-marks and cologne mats; they could smile, for they hadn’t run away.

“I shouldn’t think my mamma’d care if I went in at the back door,” thought Dotty, meekly.  “If she locks me out, I can lie down on the steps and freeze.”

But the question was, how to get away from Mandoline, who had her in charge like a sharp-eyed sheriff.

“That’s the street I turn to go to my house—­isn’t it, Lina?” asked she, quickly.

“I shan’t tell you, Dotty Dimple.  Why do you ask?”

“’Cause I’m going home.  I’m sick.  Good by.”

“But you musn’t go a step, Dotty Dimple.”

“Yes, I shall; you’re not my mamma, Lina Rosenberg; you mustn’t tell me what to do.”

“Well, I’m going everywhere you go, Dotty, but I shan’t say whether it’s the way to your house, or the way to Boston; and you don’t know.”