Dotty Dimple at Play - Sophie May
Dotty gave another glance at the sky, then one at the city clock.
"What time do you drink tea, Lina?"
"At five, 'most always."
Dotty had long felt a great curiosity about the domestic affairs of the
Jews; and here was an unexpected opportunity to sit down at the very
table with them. She had an invitation from the head of the family, and
that was something which did not happen every day. She could go home any
time afterwards; for their own tea-hour was not till half past six.
"I'll walk along with you a little way, Lina, and think it over."
It was true Mrs. Parlin did not approve of Mandoline or any of her
family; but Dotty thought she would forget that, just for once.
"O, dear! I keep thinking how my mamma said, 'I do not wish you to
play with Lina Rosenberg!' Now I can 'most always forget easy enough;
but when I TRY to forget, it says itself over and over--and I remember
just as hard!"
As they turned another corner they met Susy, who had been sent to the
dye-house.
"Why, Dotty," said she, "what are you doing on that street?"
Lina spoke up very boldly,--
"She's going to the doctor's with me, Susy Parlin, to get a plaster for
my mother."
At this wicked speech Dotty's heart almost sank into her boots; for she
had never known before that Lina would tell a deliberate lie.
Lina lived in a little grocery store. Her father was gone away to-day,>
and her mother had just served a customer with a pound of damp brown
sugar, saying, as she clipped the string,--
"It's very cheap sweetening at that price; we are going to rise on it
to-morrow."
After that she stood a minute in front of the store, and shook her
head at Jacob, a little boy, some three years old, who was trying to
balance a patent washboard against a tree which grew out of the brick
pavement. It was a large, scrawny tree, which looked as if it was
obliged to live there, but didn't want to, and had tried in vain to
get burnt up in the Portland fire. From the lower branches of the
tree depended a couple of dun-colored hams, and a painted board, with
the words, "Good Family Butter."
"Come in, Jacob, you naughty boy!" said Mrs. Rosenberg, this time shaking
him, because she was afraid he would injure the patent wash-board. Then
Jacob, who had been waiting for the shaking, and would not stir without
it, went in at the side door crying; for the family lived in one end of
the store.
Mrs. Rosenberg had a great many children, and was obliged to work very
hard at various employments. Just now she went to spreading pumpkin-seeds
to dry under the stove. She was not expecting company; and when Mandoline
entered with Dotty, she looked up from her work with a frown.
"Who've you brought home with you this time, Mandoline Rosenberg?" said
she. "Take off your hat and hang it over them tommatuses; but mind yer
don't drop it into that dish of lard."
"Mother," pleaded Mandoline, "we want to go up chamber to see my pretty
things; her mother sent her a-purpose."
"No, she didn't; no such a thing! You're a master hand to pick up
children and fetch 'em home here, and then crawl out of it by lying!
Besides, you've got to knit. I must have those socks done by to-morrow
noon, Mandy, or I'll know the reason why."
As Mrs. Rosenberg spoke, she pushed a waiter full of seeds under the
stove as if she hated the very sight of them; and when she stood up
again, Dotty observed that her dirty calico dress did not come anywhere
near the tops of her calf-skin shoes.
"But, mother," said Mandoline, with a winning smile, "this is Dotty
Dimple, the little girl that gave me the needle-book."
This was partly true. Dotty had given Mandoline an old needle-book; but
it had been in return for some maple sugar, which the little Jewess had
pilfered from her father's store.
"Dotty Dimple, is it?" said Mrs. Rosenberg, with a sharp look at the
little guest.
"I don't know now any better than I did before. That's a name for a
doll-baby; I should say."
"Alice Parlin, mother."
"Is it? O, well; you may take her up stairs out of my way; but mind, you
must knit every minute you're gone."
Dotty was greatly abashed by this reception, and would have rushed out of
the house, but Mandoline held her fast.
"You shan't go a step," said she, "I'll hide your hat."
So Dotty, under peril of going home bareheaded, was obliged to creep up
the rickety staircase with Mandoline. She likened her feelings on the
occasion to those of a person whom "the mayor is putting in the lockup."
Indeed, the "lock-up" was Dotty's dream of all the horrors, and she had
no doubt it was the mayor himself who always stood with his hands
outstretched, ready to thrust wicked people into it.
The chamber which the little girls entered was an unfinished one, and
from the rafters hung paper bags of dried herbs; for, besides being a
housekeeper and clerk, Mrs. Rosenberg was something of a doctress withal,
and made "bitters" for her particular friends.
"Sit down here on the bed, Dotty Dimple, and look at my paper dolls,"
said Lina, producing from under a disjointed chair, an old cigar box full
of paper heroes and heroines. Mandoline was an artist in he! way, and
these figures were clad in the most brilliant costumes of silver and
gold. Dotty was dazzled. Never before had it been her lot to see such
magnificent dolls,--dolls which shone so in the sun; every one of them a
king or a queen, and fit to wear a crown.
"O, Lina," sighed she, in ecstasy, "where _do_ you get your silver
and gold?"
"Tease for it," replied the little Jewess.
Dotty knew, to her own sorrow, that Lina was capable of teasing. It was
hard to keep so much as an apple or a peppermint away from her if she
happened to set her heart on it.
"I'll give you twenty dolls," said Lina, "if you'll let me have your
ring; and it isn't a very pretty ring, either; looks like brass."
Dotty locked her fingers together.
"You can't tease away my owny dony pearl, Lina, if it _is_ brass; so you
needn't try."
"Mandoline!" called out Mrs. Rosenberg's sharp voice from down stairs,
"are you at work?"
"O, dear!" said Lina, sauntering along to an old chest, and taking her
knitting from the top of it; "that's always the way. I thought if you
came, mother'd let me play."
Dotty understood from this remark why Lina had asked her to go home with
her. It was not because she wished to hear any of Dotty's brilliant
stories, for she had not asked a single question about Out West; it was
because she hoped for a reprieve from the dreaded knitting.
"She's a real naughty little girl," thought Miss Dimple; "and if she
hadn't hided my hat, I'd go right home."
There was a heavy tread on the stairs. Mrs. Rosenberg was coming up,
partly to see if her daughter was knitting, and partly to hang a paper
bag on the long pole overhead. Mandoline was dreadfully afraid of her
mother, and, in her eagerness to be found hard at work, she rattled her
needles very fast, while her fingers wandered aimlessly about among the
stitches. Mrs. Rosenberg detected the cheat at once; and, as she was
needing the money for the socks, she scolded Mandoline soundly, and
pelted her pretty little hands, rat, tat, tat, with a steel thimble.
Dotty was a little startled, and peeped out at Lina from the corners of
her eyes. Mrs. Rosenberg scolded so hard that the paper bags overhead
seemed to rattle, and some yellow pollen dropped out of one of them like
shooting stars.
Dotty had never known that there are such cruel people in the world; but
let me tell you, little reader, every mother is not like the gentle,
low-voiced woman who takes you in her lap, and kindly reproves you when
you have done wrong. No; there are very different mothers; hard-working,
ignorant ones, who do not know how to treat their children any more than
you know how to build a brick house.
Mrs. Rosenberg was so severe and unreasonable, that her little daughter,
through fear of her, had learned to deceive. Still Mrs. Rosenberg loved
Mandoline, and would have been a better mother, perhaps, if she had only
known how, and had not had so much work to do.
Presently she went down stairs, and left the little girls together.
"Good!" said Lina, in a low voice. "She's gone; now we'll play."
"But you can't knit if you play, Lina. Tell me where you hided my hat,
'cause I want to go home."
"You shan't go home till after supper, you little darling Dotty Dimple."
"O, but I must go, for my mother doesn't know where I am," said Dotty, in
a dreary tone. She had no longer any curiosity regarding Jewish suppers;
all she wanted was the liberty to get away. But it is always easier to
fall into a trap than to get out of it. Mandoline would not produce the
missing hat, and it was no light matter for Dotty to go down stairs,
among the noisy, quarrelsome children, and beg the severe Mrs. Rosenberg
to take her part. If she did so, perhaps the woman would pelt her with
the steel thimble. Perhaps, too, she would say Mandoline might keep the
hat. So Dotty played "synagogue," and all the while the sun was dropping
down, down the sky, as if it had a leaden weight attached to it, to make
it go faster.
CHAPTER VI.
A STRANGE VISIT.
The same warfare of words continued to come up from the kitchen, and
presently the odor of sausages stole up, too; Mrs. Rosenberg was
preparing supper. It seemed to the impatient Dotty that she was a long
while about it; but she worked as fast as she could, with so many
children clinging to her skirts, and impeding her movements.
"Supper, Mandoline!" called she at last, in a shrill voice; and the
little girls went down.
The supper was palatable enough, but very unwholesome, and the
table-cloth was dirty and wrinkled.
"You don't seem to like my cooking," said Mrs. Rosenberg, with a
displeased glance at Dotty's full plate.
"Yes'm," replied the little guest, faintly; "but I've eaten up my
appetite."
At the same time she swallowed a little oily gravy in desperation, and
looked slyly to see if Solly was watching her. Yes, he was, and so were
all the rest of the family, as if she had been a peculiar kind of animal,
just caught and caged.
"I suppose they are dreadful nice folks at your house," continued Mrs.
Rosenberg. "I almost wonder your mother let you come here to play with my
poor little girl. Mandy's just as good as you are, though,--you can tell
her so,--and she's got a sight prettier eyes."
Dotty's heart kept swelling and swelling, till presently it seemed as if
there wasn't room enough in her whole body to hold it. She thought of
the cheerful, orderly tea-table at home; she recalled her mother's gentle
ways, her lovely face, and longed to kiss her cheek, and whisper,
"Forgive me."
"Mamma'll be just as patient with me," thought Dotty; "she always is! But
if I once get home, I'll never make her patient any more. I'll never run
away again; not unless she _asks_ me to--I won't."
The children, as fast as they finished their suppers, jumped up and ran
away from the table--all but Solly, who had some faint idea that it was
not polite to do so before company. He was a natural gentleman; and it
was unfortunate that just at this time his mother was obliged to send
him to Munjoy of an errand. Otherwise he would have made his sister give
up Dotty's hat, and perhaps would have walked home with the unhappy
child himself.
As it was, Dotty did not seem to have a friend in the world. It was now
so dark that she hardly dared look out of doors; but even in the
brightest daylight she could not have found her way home.
"You've got to stay all night," said Mandoline. "Isn't that splendid?"
Mandoline did not mean to be cruel. She had observed that her mother
urged her own guests to stay, and sometimes kept them almost by force.
This she supposed was true politeness. More than that, she was anxious,
for private reasons, to hold Dotty, so she might not have to knit so
much. She knew, too, that her mother was proud to have such a well-bred
little girl in the house. So she would not give up Dotty's hat.
At eight o'clock, Dotty went to bed with Mandoline in the unfinished
chamber, sorely against her will; and Mandoline told her such dreadful
stories that she could not close her eyes for fright.
"This is the queerest house I was ever in," thought she, "and the
queerest bed. I s'pose it's made of pin-feathers, for they stick into
me awfully."
The bed was on the floor, and was founded upon woolsacks and buffalo
skins. The sleeping arrangements in this house were somewhat peculiar.
Mrs. Rosenberg was like the old woman in the shoe, and she stowed her
numerous family away for the night in as little space as possible. For
instance, the four youngest children slept together in one trundle-bed,
two at the top and two at the bottom, their feet coming together in the
middle. But Mandoline had left the trundle bed, and was lying on the
floor with her guest. The companion the trundle-bed--little Kosina--was
quite indignant at being deserted, and made a loud outcry, in the hope of
attracting her mother's attention.
"I don't want to sleep alone!" said she; "I don't want to sleep
_alo-o-one!_"
At another time Dotty would have laughed heartily. It was so absurd for a
child to be lonesome when there were three in the bed! But Dotty was too
low-spirited even to smile. Mrs. Rosenberg came up and boxed Rosina's
ears; and after that the trundle-bed subsided.
At last, when Dotty supposed it must be midnight, though it was only
nine o'clock, there came a loud knocking at the side door. She hid her
face under the coverlet, feeling sure it was either a wild Indian or a
highway robber.
"Don't be afraid," said Mandoline, rousing herself. "It is somebody
after beer, and mother has locked up the store."
No, it was Mr. Parlin's voice which spoke. Dotty's swollen heart gave a
great bound, and then sank heavier than ever.
"My little daughter Alice has run away." That was what he said. "Is she
in your house, Mrs. Rosenberg?"
"Yes," replied Mrs. Rosenberg, "I expect its likely she is; but she and
my Mandoline's been abed and asleep two hours."
"O, papa, I'm wide awake!" cried little Dotty, with an eager shriek,
which pierced the rafters.
"Good night, then," said Mr. Parlin, coldly.
"O, but, papa, I want to go home. What did my mamma say about me?"
"She said she had sent you of an errand. When you have finished your
errand, you may come home. Good night."
"O, NOT good night!" screamed Dotty, almost falling down stairs in her
haste, and fastening her dress as she ran. "It was 'cause Lina hid my
hat; and that was why--"
"By the way," said Mr. Parlin, without paying the slightest attention to
his half-frantic little daughter, who was clinging to his knees, and
pleading with her whole soul, "Mrs. Rosenberg, I'm sorry to trouble you,
but if you will be kind enough to keep this little runaway girl till I
send for her, I shall be very much obliged."
"O, certainly, Mr. Parlin; certainly, sir," replied the Jewess, smiling
very sweetly, and trying to pat Dotty's head, which was in such violent
motion that she only succeeded in touching the end of her nose. No one
who had looked at Mrs. Rosenberg at that moment would have suspected her
of being a vixen. She was sure Mr. Parlin would pay her handsomely if she
kept his daughter there for a day or two; and the prospect of a little
money always made the poor woman very amiable.
"Thank you, madam," said Mr. Parlin, gently disengaging himself from
Dotty. "When you are tired of my little daughter, will you please let me
know? Goodnight, Mrs. Rosenberg; good-night, Alice."
And, before Dotty had time to scream again, he was gone.
For a moment she stood quite still, gazing at the door-latch; then rushed
out into the darkness, calling, "Papa, papa!" But Mrs. Rosenberg laid her
strong hands upon her, and brought her back.
"So your mother didn't say you might come? I thought it was queer. Hush!
hush! Don't go into fits, child. There are no bears in this house, and
nothing will hurt you."
Mrs. Rosenberg's manner was much kinder than it had been before; and with
a child's quick insight, Dotty perceived that her father's coming had
wrought the change.
"I want to go home! I want to go home!" cried she, with another
passionate outburst. "O, take me--do! They won't send for me, never! Take
me, and I'll give you--O, Mrs. Rosenberg, I'll give you--"
For a little while there was quite a scene at the little grocery, and it
repented Mandoline that she had ever hidden Dotty's hat. The trundle-bed
waked up at both ends and screamed; the black and tan dog, who slept
under the counter in the store, barked lustily; the parrot in the blue
cage called out, "Quit that! quit that!" and Mrs. Rosenberg was afraid a
policeman would come in to inquire the cause of the uproar. She pattered
about in a pair of her husband's cotton-velvet slippers, and tucked all
her little ones into bed again, very much as if they had been clothes in
a boiler, which she was forcing down with a stick. She was a woman who
would be obeyed; and Dotty, finding it of no use to hold out against
fate, went up stairs at last, and lay down beside Mandoline on the
"pin-feathers."
This stolen visit had turned out quite, quite different from her
anticipations. Instead of a delightful supper of some mysterious Jewish
cookery, she had been drinking gall and wormwood. That Lina would not
let her go--THAT was the gall; that her father made her stay--THIS was
the wormwood.
"She is a tough piece," sighed Mrs. Rosenberg, as she laid her weary
limbs to repose; "I didn't know, one while, but she'd get away in spite
of me. I wonder what her father'll pay me. He seems to think this is a
house of correction. Her mother won't be likely to let her stay more than
one day. I'll have on the best table-cloth for breakfast; and along in
the forenoon I'll fetch out some macaroni cakes and lager beer; that'll
coax her up, I guess."
Just then Mrs. Rosenberg down stairs and Dotty Dimple up stairs both fell
asleep. One dreamed of running away and being chased by a dog with a hat
on his head, who barked "Good-night" as fiercely as a bite. The other
dreamed of money and brown sugar. And all the while the rats were
treating themselves to nibbles of wood; but nobody heard them. Be
careful, old rats! Your teeth have done mischief before now! The night
wore on to the wee small hours, when a loud noise like a cannon startled
Mrs. Rosenberg; or was she dreaming? The house was shaken to its very
foundation, as if by an earthquake, and the room was full of smoke. She
was just running for the children, when the building fell together with a
crash, the roof was blown off into the street, the windows were shivered
to atoms, and tongues of flame leaped madly up from the ruins.
What did it mean? She was so stunned by the shock that she scarcely cared
whether one of her children was spared or not; she only thought in her
stupor that Mr. Parlin would not pay her for Dotty's lodging if the child
was blown to pieces.
"I know how it happened," said she, twitching at her own hair to arouse
herself. "Just as Abraham always said; the rats have been nibbling
matches in the store; they've burned a hole through the floor, and set
fire to that keg of gunpowder. Yes, that's it!"
CHAPTER VII.
PLAYING PRISONER.
I know how it happened, too. It came of eating sausages. Mrs. Rosenberg,
after she was fairly awake, felt so uncomfortable and oppressed that she
went up stairs to see if the children were safe. Really, I do suppose
those little human souls were precious to her, after all.
There lay Mandoline and Dotty side by side on the buffalo skins; and the
Jewish mother stood in her short night-dress, with a tallow candle in
her hand, and gazed at them tenderly. That horrible dream had stirred
the fountain of love in her heart They made a beautiful picture, and
there was no stain of evil in their young faces. It seems as if the
angel of Sleep flies away with loads of naughtiness, for he always
leaves sleeping children looking very innocent. But, alas! he brings
back next morning all he carried away, for the little ones wake up with
just as bad hearts as ever.
"What sweet little creeters!" said Mrs. Rosenberg, bending over and
kissing them both; "just like seraphims right out of the clouds."
Softly, madam! If a drop of tallow should fall on them from that candle,
they might take to themselves wings and fly away. That was what Cupid did
in the fairy story, and you are in fairy-land yourself, Mrs. Rosenberg;
you are still half asleep.
She looked at Mandoline's perfect little hand, lying outside the
patchwork quilt.
"It doesn't seem, now," murmured the mother, with a tear in her eye,
"that I could ever whack them pretty fingers with a thimble. I do believe
if I wasn't pestered to death with everything under the sun to do, I
might be kind o' half-way decent."
Perhaps the poor woman told the truth; I think she did.
Then, as she stood there, she breathed a little prayer without any
words,--not for herself--for she did not suppose God would hear
_that_,--but for her children that she "banged about" every day of
their lives.
She was not really a Jewess, for she had no religion of any sort, and
never went to church; but I am sure of one thing: little overworked
Mandoline would have loved her mother better if she had known she ever
prayed for her at all.
In the morning, Mrs. Rosenberg was just as hard and sharp as ever; she
could not stop to be pleasant. Dotty longed to get away; but she was an
exile from her own dear home; whither could she turn?
It was a cold morning, and the children ran down stairs half dressed and
shivering. Dotty spread out her stiff, red fingers before the
cooking-stove like the sticks of a fan. "O, hum!" thought she, drearily,
"I wish I could see the red coals in our grate. My mamma wouldn't let me
go to the table with such hair as this. Prudy'd say 'twas 'harum scarum.'
But I can't brush it with a tooth-comb, 'thout any glass--so there!"
Dotty's curly hair looked quite as respectable as Mandoline's. Mrs.
Rosenberg was far too busy to attend to her children's heads. They might
be rough on the outside, and full of mischief inside; but she could not
stop to inquire.
"What a dreadful nice breakfast!" remarked Judith, rubbing her hands,
and accidentally hitting little Jacob, who forthwith spilled some
molasses on the clean table-cloth, and had his ears boxed in consequence.
It was very evident that this meal was a much better one than usual--a
sort of festival in honor of Dotty Dimple: Dutch cheese and pickles,
mince-pie and gingerbread, pepper-boxes and green and yellow dishes, were
mixed up together as if they had been stirred about with a spoon.
Dotty had not intended to eat a mouthful; but after her light supper
of the night before, she was really hungry, and, in spite of her
best resolves, the fish-hash and corncake gradually disappeared from
her plate.
After breakfast she felt more resigned, and armed herself to meet her
fate. Mrs. Rosenberg graciously allowed Mandoline to lay aside her
tedious knitting, and give her undivided attention to her guest. Dotty
had no heart for play.
"Seems as if I should choke in this house," said she; "let's go out
and breathe."
The air inside the house was rather stifling from a mixture of odors, and
soon the grocery began to fill with loud-talking men and boys; but not
the least of Dotty's troubles was the black and tan dog, who seemed to
have just such a temper as Mrs. Rosenberg, and would certainly have
scolded if he had had the gift of speech.
The two little girls went out to walk; but it was not a pleasant street
where the grocery stood, and Dotty hurried on to a better part of the
town. They fluttered about for two or three hours, as aimless as a couple
of white butterflies. Just as they were turning to go back to the dismal
little grocery, which Dotty thought was more like a lock-up than ever,
they met Mr. and Mrs. Parlin riding out in a carriage.
[Illustration: DOTTY AND THE BLACK-AND-TAN DOG.]
Dotty felt a sudden tumult of joy and shame, but the joy was uppermost.
She rushed headlong across the street, swinging her arms and startling
the horse, who supposed she was some new and improved kind of windmill,
dressed up in a little girl's clothes.
"O, my darling mamma, my darling mamma!"
To her surprise, the horse did not stop. He only pricked up his ears, and
looked with displeasure at the windmill, but kept along as before.
"Mamma, mamma, I say!"
Her mother never even looked at her, but turned her gaze to the blackened
trees, the heaps of ruin along the pavement.
"O; papa! O, stop, papa! It's me! It's Dotty!"
Mr. Parlin bent on his runaway daughter a glance of indifference, and
called out, in passing,--
"What strange little girl is this, who seems to know us so well? It
_looks_ like my daughter Alice. If it is, she needn't come to my house
to-day; she may go and finish her visit at Mrs. Rosenberg's."
Then the horse trotted on,--indeed, he had never paused a moment,--and
carried both those dear, dear people out of sight.