[Illustration:  MAKING MOLASSES CANDY.—­Page 92.]

Phebe Dolan was a young colored girl, who had a very desirable home at Mrs. Clifford’s, but who always persisted in going about the house in a dejected manner, as if some one had treated her unkindly.  For all that, she was very happy; and under her solemn face was a deal of quiet fun.

Katinka Dinkelspiel was a good-natured German girl, with a face as round as a full moon, and eyes as expressive as two blots of blue paint.  She wore her fair hair rolled in front on each side into a puff like a capital O. Dotty looked at her in surprise.  She was very unlike Norah, who wore bright ribbons on her head.  And Katinka talked broken English, stirring up her words in such a way that the sentences were like Chinese puzzles; they needed to be taken apart and put together differently.

“Please to make the door too,” she said to Horace; and it was half a minute before Dotty understood that she was asking him to shut it.

“This is my cousin Dotty Dimple, girls; the handsomest of the family; but not the best one—­are you, though?” at the same time giving Miss Dimple a chair.

“How d’ye, miss?” said Phebe, mournfully.

Katinka said nothing, but patted the letter O on the right side of her head.

“O, Phib, my mother says if you are not too tired, you may make some candy; she said so, candidly.”

Horace was just old enough to delight in puns.

Now, this was a pleasant message to Phebe; she would have been glad to keep her fingers in molasses half the time.  Still it seemed to Dotty, as she saw the rolling of the black eyes, that Phebe was quite discouraged.

“I s’pose she doesn’t like candy,” thought she; “I heard of a girl once that didn’t.”

Rolling her sad eyes again and again, Phebe went to draw the molasses, and soon had it boiling on the stove.

“There,” said Horace, rubbing his hands, “I told Dotty if anybody knew how to make candy ’twas Phebe Dolan.  Give us the nut-cracker, and I’ll have the pecans ready in no time.”

This time Phebe’s eyes twinkled.  As soon as the molasses would pour from the spoon in just the right way, with little films like spiders’ webs floating from it, then Phebe said it was done, and Horace called Grace and Cassy.  Phebe stirred in some soda with an air of solemnity, then poured half the contents of the kettle into a buttered platter, and the other half into a second platter lined with pecan-meats.  Then she took the whole out of doors to cool.

“I’ll tell you what I’m thinking about,” said Dotty, as the girl left the room;—­“what has she got on her head?”

“Why, hair, to be sure,” replied Grace.

“Wool, I should call it,” corrected Horace.

“Because I didn’t know,” faltered Dotty,—­“I didn’t know but ’twas a wig.”

“What made you think ’twas a wig, Dotty?”

“O, there was a man wore one in the cars; it looked just like anybody’s hair, only he tied it on with a button.  He knew you and Horace.”