"Are you having a good time, Florence? I hope Dimple hasn't pinched or
scratched you yet."
"Why, papa," said Dimple, looking very much hurt. "Florence will think I
am a regular little cat," but seeing a twinkle in his eyes, she knew he
was only in fun, and was consoled by the kiss he gave her as he put her
in her chair at the table.
There was a long afternoon before them, and, although Dimple could not
walk very well with her bandaged foot, she managed to get down to her
favorite place, under a big tree, where the grass was long and thick.
"Now we can play beautifully with our dolls, Florence," she said, "and
have no one to disturb us, for Bubbles doesn't count. She has to be in
the kitchen for a while anyhow."
They had not been out very long before Bubbles came running to them.
"There is a lady and a boy in the house, Miss Dimple," she said, "and
your mamma's a bringin' the boy out hyah."
"A boy!" said both the girls in horror.
"Think of it, Florence, a horrid boy! What will we do with him? I can't
run, and boys despise dolls. As for talking, I never could talk to boys.
They shut me up like a clam. I always feel as if they wanted to get
away, and I believe they would if they could," said Dimple in a
disgusted tone.
But, by this time, Mrs. Dallas had come up to them.
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