Part 12 (1/2)
CHAPTER IX.
IN THE WOODS.
The party walked leisurely along till they came to a log church, which Mr. Parlin paused to admire. It was in harmony, he said, with the roughness of the landscape.
”I should like to attend service here by moonlight; I think it would be very sweet and solemn in such a lonely place. There would be no sound outside; and as you looked through the open door, you would only see a few quiet trees listening to the words of praise.”
”The evenings here must seem like something holy,” said Mrs. Clifford, ”'the nun-like evenings, telling dew-beads as they go.'”
”O, my shole!” cried Katie, dancing before the church door, and clapping her hands; ”that's the bear's house, the _bear's_ house! Little boy went in there, drank some of the old bear's podge, so _sour_ he couldn't drink it.” Here she looked disgusted, but added with a honeyed smile, ”Then bimeby drank some o' _little_ bear's podge, and '_twas_ so sweet he drank it aw--all up!”
Everybody laughed, it was so absurd to think of looking for bears and porridge in a building where people met to wors.h.i.+p. Dotty had just been saying to herself, ”How strange that G.o.d is in this mizzable house out West, just as if it was in Portland!” But Katie had rudely broken in upon her meditations.
”O, what a Flyaway!” said she; ”you don't do any good.”
”Yes, I does.”
”Well, what?”
”O, I tell 'tories.”
”Is that all?”
”I p'ay with little goorls; and then I p'ay some more; and I wash de dishes. I'll tell _you_ a 'tory,” added she, balancing herself on a stump, and making wild gestures with her arms, somewhat as she had seen Horace do.
”'Woe to de Dotties and sons 'o men, Woe to 'em all when I yoam again!'”
One wee forefinger pointed up to the sky; the right hand, doubled to a threatening little fist, was shaken at Dotty, while the young orator's face was so wrinkled with scowls that Dotty laughed outright.
”Do speak that again,” she said. ”You are the cunningest baby!”
'”Woe to de Dotties--!' No, I can't tell it 'thout I have sumpin to stan' on!” sighed Miss Flyaway, falling off the stump directly against Dotty.
”I believe you've broken me,” cried Dotty; for, though Katie was small, her weight pressed heavily.
”Well, Fibby's broke sumpin too,” replied she, calmly. ”What does lamps wear?”
”I s'pose you mean chimneys.”
”Yes, Fibby has did it; she's broke a chimley.”
”Look up here, little Ruffleneck; you're an honor to the state,” said brother Horace, proudly. ”You don't find such a 'cute child as this in Yankee land, Dotty Dimple.”
”You musn't call me a Yankee,” said Dotty, who never liked Horace's tone when he used the word. ”I'm not a Yankee; I'm a 'Publican!”
”Hurrah for you!” shouted Horace, swinging his hat; ”hurrah for Miss Parlin Number Three!”
”Dear, dear! what have I said now? I don't want him to hurrah for me,”