Dotty opened the furnace door, and tried to warm her cold fingers.
"Why, my hands are as black as a _sip_," sighed she; as if she could have expected anything else.
There did not seem to be one ray of hope in her little dark soul.

She had no tears to shed,--she seldom had,--but when she was in trouble, she was always in the lowest depths.
"Pretty well for me to make believe I was a thief, and was going to steal! 'Who is this strange little girl ?' said he; 'it _looks_ like--'" She heard voices near the cellar door.

What if Norah should come down after butter?
Dotty was not prepared for that.

She could not hide in the keg of lard, of course; and what _should_ she do?
"My head is tipside up; I can't think." Then she began to wonder how long she could live down there, in case she was not discovered.
"I s'pose I can climb up on the swing shelf, and sleep there nights.

I can hide behind things in the daytime, and when I'm hungry I can eat out of the jars and boxes." The sound of voices came down distinctly from the kitchen overhead.