She had been dreadfully stung by a bee, which had buzzed its way out from the fireboard.

Strange to tell, there was a swarm of bees in the chimney, instead of "a spin-wheel." Abner at once mounted to the roof of the house, and peeped into the chimney.

A nice, cosy beehive it made, filled to the throat with waxen cells.
Dotty bore her sufferings sweetly, being sustained by the promise of a large box of honey, by and by.
"Bees have a 'sweet, sweet home,' I think," said Susy.
"So do ants when they get in the sugar-box," rejoined Prudy.
As night approached, Dotty showed symptoms of croup.
"I think," said her grandmother, "it will be the safest way to give her some castor-oil and molasses; that is what her father used to take when he was a little boy." Dotty pouted.

"Dirty, slippy castor-oil," she cried, shaking her elbows--a thing she seldom did now.

"I shan't let it go in my throat.
I'll bite my teeth togedder tight." "Alice," said her grandmother, "is that the proper way to speak to me ?" The child's face cleared in a moment.
"I wasn't a-speakin' to you, grandma," said she, sweetly; "I was a talkin' to the dust-pan." "O, Dotty Parlin!" cried Prudy, much distressed.