Horace was prepared for this.

"But I've had them cut out twice, miss. Being a boy, I could bear it!"

This settled the question.

"Girls are just as brave as boys," said Dotty; and submitted to the knife without a murmur.

The next day she was regarded as something of an invalid. She had lost so much sleep that she did not rise until her father was far away on his journey. Aunt Maria gave her a late breakfast, which was also to serve for an early dinner. It was an oyster-stew; and Dotty enjoyed eating it in Mrs. Clifford's room on the lounge. Katie sat beside her, watching every mouthful, and begging for it the moment it entered the spoon.

"Don't tease so," said Dotty; "your poor cousin is sick; you don't want to take away her soup?"

"Yes, I does," replied Katie, coolly; "I likes it myself," opening her mouth for more.

Dotty gave her an oyster. The next moment something grated against Katie's teeth, and she picked out the hard substance with her fingers.

Mrs. Clifford happened to see it.

"That is a pearl," said she.

"A pearl, auntie? Why, isn't that something precious? Mamma has pearls in a ring."

"I will show it to your uncle," replied Mrs. Clifford, turning it over in her hand; "but I think it is a true pearl, only a little discolored by the heat it has undergone in being cooked."

"O, I'll have a ring made of it! What funny oysters you do have out West!"

"The pyurl is mine," said Katie; "I finded it in my toof."

"No, it's mine, darling, for 'twas in my stew."

"Well, tenny rate, I want um," said Katie, dancing around the sofa, "_if_ you pees um."

"O, no; little bits of girlies don't need it--do they, auntie?"

"I hope," said Mrs. Clifford, smiling, "it will not cost either of you any of those 'falling pearls which men call tears.' It isn't worth crying about."

Katie was easily persuaded to give it up.

"You may keep um if you'll let me have two poun's of gold; _two_ poun's to make me a ying."

Dotty could not promise the gold; but said Katie should have the next pickled lime she bought with her money; and this answered quite as well.

Just as Dotty was going to her room to put away the choice pearl in a box which stood in her trunk, there was a loud noise. Phebe, coming up stairs with a pail of water in each hand, had stumbled and fallen. The water was pouring down in a cataract, and after it rattled the pails Mrs. Clifford ran to the rescue. Phebe was looking aghast, making a wild gesture with one hand, and rubbing her nose with the other.

"You didn't fall on your _nose_, Phebe?"

"Yes, ma'am," sobbed the poor girl; "and I believe it's broke; I heard it crack!"

Mrs. Clifford might have upbraided Phebe for carrying two buckets up stairs at once, contrary to orders; but she did nothing of the sort; she kindly sent for the surgeon, who set the two fragments of nose together as well as he could.

"Never mind it, child," remarked he, facetiously, to the disconsolate Phebe; "you have only been beautifying your countenance. Hereafter you will not be taken for one of the flat-nosed race."

The young African saw no amus.e.m.e.nt in the joke, and left the room with her handkerchief at her eyes.

"Doctor," said Mrs. Clifford, "how could you speak so to that poor child? She has just as much regard for her personal appearance as you and I have for ours. You never use such language to one of my family; and please remember I would not have the feelings of my servants unnecessarily wounded any sooner than those of my children."

"I stand rebuked, my dear madam," replied the family physician, respectfully.

"I wish there were more such women as Mrs. Clifford," mused he, as he drove home; "she lives up to the Golden Rule; and if there's any better prescription than the Golden Rule for making a lady, I haven't seen it yet; that's all."

It was one of those days when strange things seem ready to happen, one after another. Dotty, whose little head was rather unsettled by seeing and hearing so many new things, had an impression that such events as these were always occurring out West, and that they would never have happened anywhere else.

_Chegres_ in logs, pearls in oysters; and now somebody had fallen up stairs and broken her nose. In Maine who ever heard the like?

Dotty twirled her hair, in a state of wonder as to what would come next.

It came before bedtime.

She and Grace had been marching about the dining-room, singing martial songs. They went into the darkened parlor, still promenading, Grace's arm about her little cousin's waist.

Suddenly Grace stopped, and whispered,--

"What's that?"

Dotty listened. It was a groan. It must proceed from a human throat; but there was no one in the room but their two selves.

"I think there is _something_ in the hall," whispered Grace; "I must go tell papa."

Mr. Clifford immediately took a lamp, and went to investigate the mystery. Dotty insisted upon going too, though she hardly knew why, except that the prospect of some unknown horror fascinated her. She clung to the skirt of her uncle's coat, though he would have preferred not to be hindered. No one else, not even Horace, cared to follow.

As they entered the parlor there was the same sound from the hall, even more unearthly than ever. Dotty had entire faith in her uncle, and was not at all alarmed till they pa.s.sed through the parlor doorway, and she saw the finger-prints of blood on the panels. Then she did tremble, and she had half a mind to draw back; but curiosity was stronger than fear.

What _could_ it be that walked into people's houses _Out West_, and groaned so in their front halls? She must see the whole thing for herself, and be prepared to describe it to Prudy.

She soon knew what it meant. There was a poor intoxicated man lying on the mat. Seeing the door open, he had staggered in while the family were at tea. In some way he had hurt his hand, and stained the door with blood. So there was nothing at all mysterious or supernatural in the affair, when it was once explained.

The poor creature was too helpless to be sent into the street; and Mr.

Clifford and Katinka carried him into the stable, and laid him upon a bed of sweet hay.

"I'm glad not to be a Hoojer," said Dotty, with a severe look at her Cousin Horace. "You don't ever see such bad men in the State of Maine.

The whiskey is locked up; and I don't know as there _is_ any whiskey."

"Down East is a great place, Dotty! Don't I wish I was a Yankee--I mean a 'Publican?"

"But you can't be, Horace," returned little Dotty, looking up at him with deep pity in her bright eyes; "you weren't born there. You're a Hoojer, and you'll have to _stay_ a Hoojer."

CHAPTER XI.

SNIGGLING FOR EELS.