"If my memory preserves me right," continued the young doctor, pacing the floor, "you've got the--ahem!--pluribus unum." Here Dr. Prudy ran her fingers through her hair. "But it goes light this year--with care, ma'am, you know. So I'll go and stir you up some pills in my marble mortar." "O, dear me, doctor; don't you now! Bring me some lemonade and nuts, for I'm drefful sick; but don't bring me no pills nor molters!" "Poh, only brown bread, Dotty! what do you suppose?" Upon the whole, Miss Dimple, being petted to her heart's content, had quite a comfortable day of it. In the evening she asked,-- "Mightn't I eat supper, all alone, in the parlor? Once, when I had the sores all wrinkled out on my face, on my chin and round my eyes, all round, _then_ I ate in the parlor." Prudy, with her grandmother's consent, carried in a pretty salver, on which were a little Wedgewood teapot with hot water, a tiny sugar-bowl and creamer, a plate, and cup and saucer, some slices of toast, and a glass of jelly. "Thank you a whole heart-full," said Dotty, springing off the sofa; "that little waiter and so forth is real big enough for me." Dotty thought "and so forth" meant "cups and saucers." She had heard Norah tell Prudy, when she wished to set the table, that she might put on "the knives and forks, and so forth," and Dotty had noticed that it was always cups and saucers after the knives and forks. "But, Dr. Prudy, there's one thing you've forgot," said the young patient; "a little tea-bell, so I can tingle it, and call you in." The bell was brought, and while the rest of the family ate in the dining-room, Dotty took her "white tea" in the parlor, in queenly state. Prudy had eaten half a thin slice of toast, when the long and sharp ringing of the tea-bell summoned her into the parlor. "And what would you like, Miss Dimple?" said the remarkably obliging doctor, with a low bow. "More jelly," replied the patient, holding up the empty glass, "and some squince marmalade." After obeying this request, Prudy went back to her supper, and had just finished her slice of bread, when the bell struck again. This time there was "that old spin-wheel in the chimney again,"--so the patient said,--and a book in the what-not wrong side up, looking "as if it would choke." The book was set right; but the noise in the chimney was too much for the doctor's skill, since neither she nor any one else knew its cause. Next sounded a furious peal of the bell, and a series of loud screams from the little sick girl. She had been dreadfully stung by a bee, which had buzzed its way out from the fireboard. Strange to tell, there was a swarm of bees in the chimney, instead of "a spin-wheel." Abner at once mounted to the roof of the house, and peeped into the chimney. A nice, cosy beehive it made, filled to the throat with waxen cells. Dotty bore her sufferings sweetly, being sustained by the promise of a large box of honey, by and by.