“Here, let’s creep under this fence,” said she; “what’s the use to go ’round by the road?  It’s a great deal nearer to your aunt’s house through the field.”

“There, child,” cried she, when they were on the other side of the fence, “now I want to go behind this clump of trees, to—­to find a book I left here yesterday:  but you mustn’t come, Dotty.”

“What for can’t I?  Yes, I shall, Abby Grant; you shame yourself!  I’m goin’ every single where you go; so, now, you’ll have to give up!”

“Dot Parling, you go right along with your doggie!  I’ll come in a minute.”

Dotty thought a girl of Abby’s age had no right to command her.  She stamped her little foot, but it made no sound in the soft grass.

“I isn’t a-goin’ to go long with my doggie, Abby Grant; ’cause—­so there!”

“But you must.  You know, Dot Parling,” said Abby, more gently, “your grandma expects you to do just what I tell you.  I’m afraid, dear, you won’t get any of that bubbled cream if you don’t mind, nor any tarts.”

The child queen began to think it was wisest to obey; but she did so with a very ill grace.

“Well, Abby Grant, I will go long with my doggie; but it’s cause I’m tired, and don’t want to help you find your old book—­so, there!”

“That’s right.  Dotty.  Start quick—­can’t you?”

Dotty took “high ground” at once.  She looked Abby full in the face.

“Do you like yourself, Abby Grant?”

“I don’ know.  Yes:  why?”

“’Cause I shouldn’t think you would!  I ’spise you!”

Having freed her mind, Dotty walked on with Zip, only turning back once, to exclaim,—­

“There, Abby, now you’ll have to give up!”

Abby, naughty girl, ate her cake in secret, staining her white apron with the jelly, while little Miss Dimple trudged on, thinking it very strange Abby should be so long finding that book.

Perhaps for the reason that she was rather out of sorts, and thinking about Abby rather than about the road, she missed her way, and soon found herself in a narrow lane she had never seen before.

Zip looked rather uneasy, but followed close by her side.  Dotty walked on and on, till the track had faded quite away.  This was not the road to aunt Martha’s.  Why didn’t Abby come?

Dotty, too proud to cry, too angry to look back, wandered till she came to the edge of the Parlin woods.  Here was a little creek, tumbling over some small gray rocks; the same “creek” where Horace had sometimes gone fishing.

“True as you live,” said Dotty to herself, “here’s a teenty-tonty river.”

There was no way of crossing the creek, and the child felt as if she had come to the very end of the world.  Her courage began to fail.

“Dotty Dimple,” said she, stamping her foot, “don’t you cry!  If you do cry, Dotty Dimple, I’ll shut you up in the closet.”

But, in spite of these brave words, the unhappy child felt two or three tears raining down her cheeks.  She now seated herself on the grass, and screamed for Abby.