"Yes, my child; and it is supposed that Harriet must have hurt him in one of her fits of rage." Dotty's face had grown very white. "O, mamma, what did the folks do with Harriet?" "They took her to court, and tried her for abusing the little boy. They could not prove that she was really guilty, though everybody believed she was." "I know what 'guilty' means, mamma; it means _hung_." "No, dear; if she hurt the baby she was guilty, whether she was punished for it or not." "Well, she did it, I just know she did it!" exclaimed Dotty, greatly excited. "That little tinty boy!" "The judge pitied her for her youth and ignorance; so did the twelve men called the 'jury;' and she was allowed to go free." "Then did she 'buse somebody's else's baby, mamma?" "I hope not. The last I heard of her she was married to a negro fiddler." "O!" "Do you know why I have told you this sad story, my little daughter?" "'Cause, 'cause--Harriet beat her head against the door, and hurt a baby, and--and--married black folks!" Dotty was very pale, and there was a tear in her voice; still her mother could not be sure that her words had made much impression. She was afraid her long story had been "love's labor lost." But I believe it had not been. Not entirely, at least. Dotty thought of Harriet all the afternoon, and walked about the house with a demureness quite unusual. "O, Prudy!" said she, when they two were alone in the parlor, looking over a book of engravings, "I'm going to tell you something; 'twill make you scream right out loud, and your hair stick up!" [Illustration: "I'M GOING TO TELL YOU SOMETHING." Page 34.] "Don't," laughed Prudy, "I've just brushed my hair." "Once there was a girl, Prudy, lived in this state; and mother thinks she was just like me. But she wasn't, truly. She was homely; and her hair was black; and her mother was dead. The woman spatted her with a stick where she lived. And she didn't love the baby any at all, 'cause he had nicer things, you know; and I guess white sugar and verserves. So she stuck a _spine_ into him--only think! In his crib! So he never walked ever again! And his father and mother were gone away, and told her to give him baked apples and milk--with bread in!" "Why, that can't be true, Dotty Parlin!" "Yes, _indeed_! Certain true, black and blue. Guess my mother knows!" "What!" said Prudy, "just for baked apples and milk?" "Yes. Her name was Harriet." "What did you say she did it with, Dotty?" "Mamma said a _spine_. They took her to the court-house; but they didn't hang her, 'cause she--I've forgot what--but they didn't. They made her marry a black man--that's all I know!" "Well, there, how queer!" said Prudy, drawing a long breath. "If I was Harriet I'd rather have been hung. Was he all black?" "Yes, solid black. But I s'pose she didn't want to choke to death any more'n you do." "Dotty," said Prudy, with a meaning in her tone, "what do you suppose made mamma tell you that story?" "I don't know."