"He smiles just as _cheerfully_," mused Miss Patty, with an airy toss of the head. "Guess he thinks I'm smart! Guess he thinks he'll put me in the C'lumby Norter [Columbian Orator] first thing _he_ does! Big girl like this, sitting up so straight, working like a woman!" With that she rocked forward, and nearly lost her balance; but no harm was done; she only pushed the kettle half way off the board. The gentleman thought it was about time to interfere, and let some of the family know what the child was doing. "Will you please point the way to the parlor, little miss?" said he, with a bewitching smile. Patty slid from her seat, and, in her confusion, was aiming straight for the cellar door, when, alas! alas! one of her feet got caught in the rounds of the chair, and she tumbled out headlong. In trying to save herself, she put forth both hands, and struck against the kettle, which was already tipsy, and of course turned over. It was a critical moment. Mr. Starbird saw the kettle coming, and had the presence of mind to spring the other way. A flood of hot water and tallow was pouring over the floor, and little Patty screaming lustily. Mr. Starbird thought she was scalding to death, and instead of taking care of himself, turned about to save her. But before he could reach her, she had darted through the bar-room door and disappeared--without so much as a blotch of tallow on her shoes. Gallant Mr. Starbird did not get off so well. His foot slipped on the oily floor, and down he fell. Before he could get up the whole household had come to the rescue, Rachel and John bringing tin dippers, and Mrs. Lyman a mop; but Dorcas a roll of linen, for she knew the stranger must be scalded. He tried to make the best of it, poor man; and while Dorcas was doing up both his blistered hands, he smiled on her almost as "cheerfully" as he had smiled on the little candle-dipper. He found it very pleasant to look at Dorcas. Everybody liked to look at her. She had a rare, sweet face, as delicate as a white snowdrop just touched with pink, and she did know how to do up sore fingers beautifully; she had practised it on every one of the children. Patty was so sorry and ashamed that she crept to bed in the dark, and cried herself to sleep. The next morning that unpainted kitchen floor was a sight to behold, and Rachel said she did not think it would ever come clean again. "See what I found in the kettle," said she. Two rows of little withered candles, all worn out, and crooked besides. "Did I do that too?" said Patty. "I should think you did. What mischief will you be up to next?" said Rachel, sharply. "But, but, mamma _said_ I might dip." "Why, yes, so I did," said the much-enduring mother, suddenly remembering her own words. "Well, well, Rachel, we won't be too hard on Patience. I'll warrant she'll never try this caper again." CHAPTER XIII. MR. STARBIRD'S DREAM.