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Updated: June 12, 2025
"Didn't we have a good time?" said Florence, looking out on the moonlight, as she stood at the window in Dimple's room. "Yes," was Dimple's reply, "all but the snake. I don't like snakes." But the next evening it was evident that Bubbles still bore the subject of snakes in her mind. Mr. and Mrs. Dallas had gone out.
She entered the waiting-room of the station, and looked anxiously around. No Florence was there. Her heart sank and she turned to go. Florence had really meant what she said. And her aunt and cousins in Baltimore, what would they think of her? The tears began to roll down Dimple's cheeks as she looked up and down the long track. She did not know what to do next.
Dallas, "you will keep me awake all night with your flattery." "Florence is to sleep with me, isn't she, mamma?" "Certainly, and the sooner you go, the sooner it will be to-morrow." "Well, we will go now. See me ride, Florence," said Dimple, as her mamma put her in a rocking-chair and pushed the chair along through the door into Dimple's little blue and white room.
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.
But respect for a teacher's attainments does not always breed love for the teacher nor an appreciation of the said teacher's softer qualities, either. Laura had come to the conclusion that there must be a side to "Old Dimple's" character that few of his pupils had surmised. There was a bond between Professor Dimp and that mysterious young man from Albany that Laura Belding did not understand.
"I don't believe the young man is any such thing," announced Laura, hearing this. "He doesn't look bad. And surely we can trust to the professor's judgment." "And we ought to help Professor Dimp," said Nell. "Poor old man! I am sorry for him." "Say! Old Dimple's a good sort," declared Bobby, enthusiastically.
Dimple's foot did not get well as fast as she expected, and the little girl found it rather tiresome to lie on a lounge all day, although her mamma read to her, and tried to amuse her. Bubbles, too, was as obedient a nurse as could be, and, because she had been the cause of the accident, considered it her first and only duty to wait on Dimple.
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?"
Florence had reached home long before. Indeed she had not gone very far before her anger cooled, although she was still very much hurt; but she concluded it would not be right to start off for her own home without a word to her aunt, who had been so kind to her. This thought added to her unhappiness, and she went to Dimple's room, throwing herself on the floor, crying bitterly.
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.
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