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Updated: May 7, 2025
We might set the table, too, Florence." "Thanky, ma'am, Miss Dimple. Thanky, Miss Flo'ence." Bubbles' face was beaming, and her slim, black legs went scudding into the house with more than their usual agility. "I shouldn't wonder if Rock were to come over, Florence," said Dimple; "then he can help us to shell the peas, so we can have some time to play.
She safe an' soun'. Jes' yuh come in de back way, an' I'll git yuh some dry things. An' Sylvy won't say nothin'. I jes' know she wont, an' yuh can git dry by de kitchen fire. I reckon Miss Flo'ence mighty 'shamed o' herse'f, kickin' up all dis rumpus 'bout nothin'." But Dimple shook her head. "It wasn't about nothing. I behaved just as mean as could be, and I'm the one to be ashamed.
Bubbles looked as sympathetic as the occasion required, and trotted along by Dimple's side, holding the umbrella over her, and trying to suggest all manner of comforting things. "Hit'll all be ovah befo' yuh is twict married, Miss Dimple, and hit mought be wuss. S'posin' Miss Flo'ence was los' sho 'nough, den yuh might tek on.
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