But she did not go to the hay-field.  Just as she was about to step out upon the back porch, she heard a door open behind her, and turning, saw, emerging from the closed apartment which contained the staircase, a strange figure.  The head was that of a young girl about fourteen, with large, astonished blue eyes, and light brown hair hanging in a long plait down her back, while her form was attired in a plum-colored silk gown, very much worn, torn in some places, with several great stains in the front of the skirt, and a long and tattered train.  The shoulders were ever so much too wide, the waist was ever so much too big, and the long sleeves were turned back and rolled up.  In her hand the figure held a large glass bottle, from the mouth of which hung a short rubber tube, ending in a bulbous mouth-piece.

Dora could not suppress a start and an expression of surprise, but she knew this must be Miriam Haverley, and advanced toward her.  In a moment she had recovered her self-possession sufficiently to introduce herself and explain the situation.  Miriam took the bottle in her left hand, and held out her right to Dora.

“I have been expecting you would call,” she said, “but I had no idea you were here now.  The door-bell is in the basement, and I have been upstairs, trying to get dough off my hands.  I have been making bread, and I had no idea it was so troublesome to get your hands clean afterwards; but I expect my dough is stickier than it ought to be, and after that I was busy getting myself ready to go out and feed a calf.  Will you walk into the parlor?”

“Oh, no,” cried Dora, “let me go with you to feed the calf; I shall like that ever so much better.”

“It can wait just as well as not,” said Miriam; “we can sit in the hall, if you like,” and she moved toward an old-fashioned sofa which stood against the wall; as she did so, she stepped on the front of her voluminous silk gown, and came near falling.

“The horrid old thing!” she exclaimed; “I am always tripping over it,” and as she glanced at Dora the two girls broke into a laugh.  “I expect you think I look like a perfect guy,” she said, as they seated themselves, “and so I do, but you see the calf is not much more than a week old, and its mother has entirely deserted it, and kicks and horns at it if it comes near her.  It got to be so weak it could scarcely stand up, and I have adopted it, and feed it out of this bottle.  The first time I did it I nearly ruined the dress I had on, and so I went to the garret and got this old gown, which covers me up very well, though it looks dreadfully, and is awfully awkward.”

“To whom did it belong?” asked Dora.  “It is made in such a queer way,—­not like really old-fashioned things.”

“I am sure I don’t know to whom it belonged,” said Miriam.  “There are all sorts of things in our garret,—­except things that are good for some particular purpose,—­and this old gown was the best I could find to cover me up.  It looks funny, but then the whole of it is funny,—­calf-feeding and all.”