One of the cellar windows had been left out in order to admit coal.  Through this window crept Dotty, regardless of her white stockings and crimson dress.  When she had fairly got her head through the opening, and was no longer afraid of being seen, she breathed more freely.

“Here I am!  Not a bit of me out.  But I must go on my tipsy-toes, or they’ll hear me, and think it’s a buggler”

There was quite a steep hill to walk over, and she found it anything but a path of roses.  Once or twice she stumbled and fell upon her hands and knees.

“Seems to me,” said she, drawing out her foot, which had sunk above the ankle in coal,—­“seems to me I have as many feet as a caterpillar.”

But she kept on, down the Hill of Difficulty, till she reached solid ground.  It was not a very cheerful apartment, that is certain.  The light had much difficulty in getting in at the little windows, and when it did fight its way through it was not good for much; it was a gloomy light, and looked as if it had had a hard time.

Dotty went up to the furnace for comfort.  It was a tall, black thing, doing its best to give warmth and cheer to the rooms up stairs, but it was of no use to the cellar.  It was like some brilliant people, who shine in society, but are dull and stupid at home.  Dotty opened the furnace door, and tried to warm her cold fingers.

“Why, my hands are as black as a sip,” sighed she; as if she could have expected anything else.

There did not seem to be one ray of hope in her little dark soul.  She had no tears to shed,—­she seldom had,—­but when she was in trouble, she was always in the lowest depths.

“Pretty well for me to make believe I was a thief, and was going to steal!  ‘Who is this strange little girl?’ said he; ‘it looks like—­’”

She heard voices near the cellar door.  What if Norah should come down after butter?  Dotty was not prepared for that.  She could not hide in the keg of lard, of course; and what should she do?

“My head is tipside up; I can’t think.”  Then she began to wonder how long she could live down there, in case she was not discovered.

“I s’pose I can climb up on the swing shelf, and sleep there nights.  I can hide behind things in the daytime, and when I’m hungry I can eat out of the jars and boxes.”

The sound of voices came down distinctly from the kitchen overhead.  Dotty crouched behind an apple barrel, and listened.  Grandma Read was talking to Mrs. Parlin, who seemed to be in another room.

“Mary, my glasses are gone this time,” said she.  “If little Alice were only here, I should set her to hunting.”

“She don’t know I’m in the house this minute,” thought Dotty; “no, under the house.  Dear me!”

With that she walked softly up the stairs, and listened at the door-latch; for the sound of her grandmother’s voice was encouraging, and Dotty, in her loneliness, longed to be near the dear people of the family, even if she could not see them.