Bubbles lay down on her back, and looked up at the sky. After a while a
little star peeped out, then disappeared again, like a baby playing
"Peep-bo."
"Angels, I reckon," thought Bubbles. "S'pose I won't git to see 'em. I
reckon stealin's awful," and she lay there in a very humble frame of
mind, till she went to sleep.
"I cannot imagine what has become of Bubbles," said Mrs. Dallas to her
husband when he came in. "I have looked the house over, and called her
in every room. She cannot have followed the children. I never knew her
to stay away before."
"Hasn't Sylvy seen her?"
"Not since early in the afternoon. She has looked all over the place."
And so she had, but Bubbles asleep on the roof did not hear her, and a
limb of the tree on that side hid her from view.
"There is no reason for her running off, is there?" asked Mr. Dallas.
"No, unless Dimple has threatened her with the orphan asylum once too
often. She has such a horror of it, but I told Dimple not to do so
again, and she is not apt to disobey."
They sat down to tea, and it was not till an hour later that Bubbles was
rescued. Mr. Dallas was walking about, smoking his cigar, when he heard
a doleful voice saying,
"Lordy, Lordy, I'm awful bad, just as well go to the orphan asylum. I'll
die hyah, plum sho'.
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