"My aunt 'Ria has two girls, but we don't, only our Norah; and mother never lets me put any nightly-blue sirreup on my hangerjif 'cept Sundays.

I think we're pretty poor." Dotty meant all she said.

She had now become a traveller; had seen a great many elegant things; and when she thought of her home in Portland, it seemed to her plainer and less attractive than it had ever seemed before.
"I don't know what you would think," said Emily, counting over her trials on her fingers as if they had been so many diamond rings, "if you didn't have anything to eat but brown bread and molasses.

I guess you'd think _that_ was pretty poor! And got the molasses all over your face, because you couldn't see to put it in your mouth.

And had that woman shake you every time you spoke.