"Why, Miss--why, aunt Polly!"
"I've got one on me too," said Flyaway, pulling at her apron sleeve;
"Hollis did it with the tongs."
"It can't be; not a scar like mine."
"Bigger 'n' larger 'n' yours; only but I can't find it," said Flyaway,
carefully twisting around her dainty white arm, which Polly kissed,
and said was as sweet as a peach. "Bigger 'n' larger 'n' yours. Where's
it gone to? O, I feegot--'twas on my _sleeve_, and I never put it on
to-day."
"You're a droll child, not to know the difference between scars and
dirt! When I was almost as young and quite as innocent, that wicked
little boy bit me, and I shall carry the marks of his teeth to my
grave." With another lingering glance at the purple mark, Polly drew
down her sleeve, sighed, and began to knit again.
"Was it the woman's child that made you dig, that you told about last
summer?"
"Yes; I was a bound girl."
"Bound to what?" Dotty was trying to drown the remembrance of Prudy's
ten cents; so she wished to keep Miss Polly talking.
"Bound to Mrs.
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