"It isn't Tate Penny!" Why, to be sure it was! There
was her dimpled chin; and if that wasn't proof enough, there was the
wart on her thumb!
To think such a glorious thing as this could happen to Dotty! and she
not the best girl in the world either! A visit from her bosom friend!
"Aunt 'Ria, do you understand? Aunt Louise? Gracie? This is _Tate
Penny_!"
"Who asked her to come? How did she happen to be with mamma, the same
day, in the same cars?"
Well, grandma Parlin invited her to come. "When one lives in an
India-rubber house," she said, "a few people more or less make no
difference at all. She wished Dotty's 'nipperkin' of happiness to be
full for once."
And it was: it ran over. There were joyful days for the next
fortnight. I could never draw the picture of them with my pen, even if
I had the paper left to put it on. They kept house under the trees;
they baked their food in a brick oven Horace made; they gave a party;
they had boat rides; they had swings; they never went into the house
unless it rained; they were never cross to one another, or rude to
Jennie Vance; it was like living in fairy-land.
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