"I thought I could trust my little
girl. Think, Dimple, what a day's work. You have tempted your cousin to
do wrong, first by going out in the wet, and again by meddling with the
clothing upstairs; then you hurt her feelings, and quarreled with her,
and now you blame the weather for it all, besides setting a bad example
to Bubbles. Where have you been, my child?"
"Trying to find Florence, mamma. I walked and walked, and I was so
worried, and--oh, mamma, I thought all sorts of dreadful things. I went
to the station, Florence, and I found out there that you hadn't really
gone home; then I thought you were lost, or that the cars had run over
you, or the gypsies had stolen you, or that--oh I'm so miserable," she
caught her breath, and shivered with cold and excitement.
Her mother was unfastening her wet garments. She felt that Dimple's
naughtiness had brought its own punishment. "I think Florence has
changed her mind about going home," she said, quietly.
Dimple raised a tear-stained face. "Oh, Florence, have you?" she
exclaimed. "I'm so glad. I don't want you to think I don't love you, for
I do. I love you dearly, dearly, Florence, and I think your hair is
lovely."
This was too much for Florence's tender heart, and she sobbed out, "It
was my fault too, Dimple. I said hateful things, and I couldn't forgive
myself when I thought you had gone, I didn't know where.
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