Dimple's mamma was horrified when they appeared at her door. Bubbles in
war-paint and feathers, carrying the little barefooted girl, from whose
foot blood was dropping on the floor.
"What on earth is the matter? Oh, Dimple! Oh, Bubbles! What have you
been doing?"
But Bubbles was so overcome by terror, and Dimples by the sight of the
blood, that neither could explain till the foot was washed and bandaged.
Then poor Bubbles flung herself on the floor and begged not to be sent
to the orphan asylum.
"You ridiculous child," said Dimple's mamma. "Of course you ought to be
careful, but it is not your fault any more than Dimple's. She should not
have sent you for the hatchet. I am very sorry for my little Dimple; it
is not so very serious, but she will not be able to walk for several
days. Next time you want to play Indian, do without a hatchet. Put on
your frock, Bubbles, and go into the kitchen, for I'm sure I heard Sylvy
call you."
Bubbles went meekly out and Dimple was soon asleep on the sofa.
Bubbles' real name was Barbara. She was the child of a former servant
who went away, leaving her, when she was about five years old, with Mrs.
Dallas; as the mother never came back, and no one could tell of her
whereabouts, Bubbles gradually became a fixture in Dimple's home.
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