Dotty blew with such force that her cheeks were puffed as round as rubber balls.

Katie looked on in great delight.
"See," she cried, "see the trees a-yidin' on that bubbil!" Dotty dropped the pipe and kissed her.
"Dear me," said she, the next minute, "there's Miss Polly coming!" Katie looked along the path, and saw a forlorn woman tightly wrapped in a brown shawl, carrying a basket on her arm, and looking sadly down at her own calf-skin shoes, which squeaked dismally as she walked.
"Is um the Polly ?" whispered Katie; "is um so tired ?" "No, she isn't tired," said Dotty; "but she feels dreadfully all the whole time; I don't know what it's about, though." By this time the new-comer stood on the threshold, sighing.
"How do you do, you pretty creeturs ?" said she, with a dreary smile.
"Yes, 'um," replied Katie; "is you the Polly, and does you feel drefful ?" The sad woman kissed the little girls,--for she was fond of children,--sighed more heavily than ever, asked if their grandmother was at home, and passed through the kitchen on her way to the parlor.
Mrs.Parlin sat knitting on the sofa, Mrs.Clifford was sewing, and Miss Louise crocheting.

They all looked up and greeted the visitor politely, but it seemed as if a dark cloud had entered the room.

Miss Polly seated herself in a rocking-chair, and began to take off her bonnet, sighing as she untied the strings, and sighing again as she took the three pins out of her shawl.
"I hope you are well this fine weather," said Mrs.Parlin, cheerily.
"As well as ever I expect to be," replied Miss Polly, in a resigned tone.
Then she opened the lids of her basket with a dismal creak, and took out her knitting, which was as gray as a November sky.

Afterwards she slowly pinned a corn-cob to the right side of her belt, and began to knit.