I've finished my visit; I have a right to come home; but p'rhaps they won't think so.

I feel's if I wasn't half so good as tea-grounds, or coffee-grounds, or potato-skins," continued she, with a pang of despair.

"I know what I'll do; I'll go down cellar; that's where the rats stay; and if I _am_ bad, I hope I'm as good as a rat, for I don't bite." One of the cellar windows had been left out in order to admit coal.
Through this window crept Dotty, regardless of her white stockings and crimson dress.

When she had fairly got her head through the opening, and was no longer afraid of being seen, she breathed more freely.
"Here I am! Not a bit of me out.

But I must go on my tipsy-toes, or they'll hear me, and think it's a _buggler_" There was quite a steep hill to walk over, and she found it anything but a path of roses.