One day she rushed into the nursery out of breath.  Prudy was kneeling before her little trunk, putting in order the paper dolls, which Dotty had scattered over the floor.  They were a sad sight.  Some of them had lost their heads, and some had lost their fine clothes, which are worth as much as heads any day—­to dolls.

But Dotty did not stop to look at the mischief she had made.  Her thoughts were of other matters.  She had brought from the kitchen a “Tom Thumb lamp” and a bunch of matches.

Without a word she seated herself on the floor, behind her sister, and drew off her shoes and stockings.  She looked for a moment at her little pink toes, then rubbed the whole bunch of matches on the carpet, saying to herself, “A lamp to my feet.”

But, somehow, the lamp would not light itself.  Dotty did not know how to turn back the chimney, and, though there was certainly blaze enough in the matches, it did not catch the wick.  It leaped forward and caught the skirt of Prudy’s dress.

“You’re burnin’ afire!  You’re burnin’ afire!” shouted Dotty, dancing around her sister.  Prudy now felt the heat, and screamed too, bringing her mother and Norah to the spot at once.  The flames were soon smothered in a rug, and so Prudy’s life was mercifully saved.

It was sometime before any one understood what Dotty had been trying to do with a light.

“I was just only a-puttin’ a lamp to my feet,” sobbed she.  “I learned it to Sabber school.”

But the little one’s rare tears were soon dried by a romp with Zip out of doors.

“It’s queer how things always happen just right,” said Prudy, still trembling from her fright.  “You said, if I’d been wearing my calico, mother, I’d have been scorched.  And you know it was only the littlest while ago I put on this blue delaine, to go to auntie’s in!”

CHAPTER IV.

THE NESTLINGS.

An hour or two after this, Mrs. Parlin, Susy, Prudy, and Zip went to visit Mrs. Eastman, who now lived a little way out of town.

Dotty was driving ducks, and did not see her mother and sisters when they started.

“Where is they, Nono?  And where’s Prudy?”

“Gone walking.  Your mamma told you they were going,” replied Norah, setting a basin of water and a brush and comb on the stand.

“Well, Prudy’s runned away,” cried Dotty, “Naughty girl; made out o’ dirt!”

“Come here, Miss Dimple, and let me brush your hair.”

“Well, here’s my hair, Nono, but you mustn’t pull it; ’tisn’t your hair!  O, I want to kiss my mamma, I do!”

“Your mamma will be back again this evening.”

“Don’t want to kiss her in the evening—­want to kiss her now!”

“What makes you in such a hurry to kiss your mother?”

“O, I just only want to tell her to whip Prudy.  Naughty Prudy runned away!  Made out o’ dirt!”