know any better than to choke my baby?"

As Dotty really supposed the little one's last hour had come, and she herself had been its murderess, her distress and terror are not to be told. She paced the aisle, wringing her hands, while Mrs. Lovejoy put her finger down Freddie's throat and patted his back.

In a very short time the mischief was undone; the child caught its breath, and blinked its little watery eyes, while its face faded from deep magenta to its usual color of dough.

Dotty was immensely relieved.

"Bess its 'ittle heart," cried Mrs. Lovejoy, pressing it close to her travelling-cape, while several of the passengers looked on, quite interested in the scene. "Did the naughty, wicked girlie try to choke its muzzer's precious baby? We'll w'ip her; so we will! She shan't come near my lovey-dovey with her snarly hair."

Mrs. Lovejoy's remarks pricked like a nosegay of thistles. They were not only sharp in themselves, but they were uttered with such evident displeasure that every word stung.

Dotty was creeping away with her head down, her "snarly hair" veiling her sorrowful eyes, when she remembered her hat, and meekly asked Mrs. Lovejoy to restore it.

"Take it," was the ungracious reply, "and don't you ever offer to hold another baby till you have a little common sense."

Dotty walked away with her fingers in her mouth, more angry than grieved, and conscious that all eyes were upon her.

"I didn't mean to scold you, child," called the woman after her; "only you might have killed my baby, and I think you're big enough to know better."

This last sentence, spoken more gently, was intended to heal all wounds; but it had no such effect. Dotty was sure everybody had heard it, and was more ashamed than ever. She had never before met with any one so ill bred as Mrs. Lovejoy. She supposed her own conduct had been almost criminal, whereas Mrs. Lovejoy was really much more at fault than herself. A woman who has no tenderness for a well-meaning little girl, no forgiveness for her thoughtless mistakes, can never be regarded as a lady.

Thus, for the second time that day, Dotty had met with misfortune.

Her father knew nothing of what had occurred, and she had not much to say when he offered a penny for her thoughts.

"I oughtn't to have given that baby any corn," said she, briefly; "but he didn't choke long."

"Where are your gloves, child?"

Dotty looked in her pocket, and shook her head.

"You must have left them in the seat you were in. You'd better go after them, my daughter, and then come back and brush your hair."

"O, papa, I'd rather go to Indiana with my hands naked. That woman doesn't like me."

Mr. Parlin gave a glance at the wretched little face, and went for the gloves himself. They were not to be found, though Mrs. Lovejoy was very polite indeed to assist in the search. They had probably fallen out of the window.

"Don't take it to heart, my little Alice," said Mr. Parlin, who was very sorry to see so many shadows on his young daughter's face so early in the day. "We'll buy a new pair in Boston. We will think of something pleasant. Let us see: when are you going to read your first letter?"

"O, Susy said the very last thing before I got to Boston. You'll tell me when it's the very last thing? I'm so glad Susy wrote it! for now I can be 'expecting it all the rest of the way."

CHAPTER IV.

"PIGEON PIE POSTPONED."

This is Susy's letter, which lay in Mr. Parlin's pocket-book, and which he gave his impatient little daughter fifteen minutes before the cars stopped:—