You musn't tell a
single soul, Dotty Dimple, as long as you live, and I'll give you
half."
"Half what?"
Jennie produced the money from her bosom, feeling, I am glad to say,
very guilty. "Out o' those saddle-bag pockets out there," added she,
breathlessly; "true's the world."
"Why, Jennie Vance!"
"One had a raisin in and a button, and nobody but me would have
thought of looking. You wouldn't--now would you? My father says I've
got such sharp eyes!"
"H'm!" said Dotty, who considered her own eyes as bright as any
diamonds; "you took the saddle-bag right out of my hand. How do you
know I shouldn't have peeked in?"
Jennie did not reply, but smoothed out the wrinkled notes with many a
loving pat.
"What did grandma say?" asked Dotty; "wasn't she pleased?"
"Your grandmother doesn't know anything about it, Dotty Dimple; what
business is it to her?"
Jennie's tone was defiant. She assumed a courage she was far from
feeling.
Dotty was speechless with surprise, but her eyes grew as round as
soap-bubbles.
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