Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Girls -- Juvenile fiction
"Yes," answered Dotty, very glad to say a word to such remarkable
children as these; "yes, she is a darling; and she has on a white dress
with blue spots, and a hat trimmed with blue; and her hair is straw
color. They call her Flyaway, because she can't keep still a minute."
"Yes, I does; I keeps still two, free, five, _all_ the minutes," cried
Katie; and to prove it, she flew across the yard, and began to pry into
one of the play-houses.
"She doesn't mean to be naughty; you must scuse her," spoke up Dotty,
very loud; for she still held unconsciously to the idea that blind people
must have dull ears. "She is a nice baby; but I s'pose you don't know
there are some play-houses in this yard, and she'll get into mischief if
I don't watch her."
"Why, all these play-houses are ours," said little curly-haired Emily;
"whose did you think they were?"
"Yours?" asked Dotty, in surprise; "can you play?"
Emily laughed merrily.
"Why not? Did you think we were sick?"
Dotty did not answer.
"I am Mrs. Holiday," added Emily; "that is, I generally am; but
sometimes I'm Jane. Didn't you ever read Rollo on the Atlantic?"
Dotty, who could only stammer over the First Reader at her mother's knee,
was obliged to confess that she had never made Rollo's acquaintance.
"We have books read to us," said Emily. "In the work-hour we go into
the sitting-room, and there we sit with the bead-boxes in our laps,
making baskets, and then our teacher reads to us out of a book, or
tells us a story."
"That is very nice," said Dotty; "people don't read to me much."
"No, of course not, because you can see. People are kinder to blind
children--didn't you know it? I'm glad I had my eyes put out, for if they
hadn't been put out I shouldn't have come here."
"Where should you have gone, then?"
"I shouldn't have gone anywhere; I should just have staid at home."
"Don't you like to stay at home?"
Emily shrugged her shoulders.
"My paw killed a man."
"I don't know what a paw is," said Dotty.
"O, Flyaway Clifford, you've broken a teapot!"
"No matter," said Emily, kindly; "'twas made out of a gone-to-seed poppy.
Don't you know what a paw is? Why, it's a _paw_"
In spite of this clear explanation, Dotty did not understand any better
than before.
"It was the man that married my maw, only maw died, and then there was
another one, and she scolded and shook me."
"O, I s'pose you mean a father 'n mother; now I know."
"I want to tell you," pursued Emily, who loved to talk to strangers.
"She didn't care if I was blind; she used to shake me just the same. And
my paw had fits."
The other children, who had often heard this story, did not listen to it
with great interest, but went on with their various plays, leaving Emily
and Dotty standing together before Emily's baby-house.
"Yes, my paw had fits. I knew when they were coming, for I could smell
them in the bottle."
"Fits in a bottle!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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