"There—I've finished!" Doretta cries with an air of triumph.
But the cry is succeeded by another, half of anguish, half of rage.
"What's the matter now?"
"A blot!"
"Let me see? . . . You little goose, what have you done? . . . You've ruined the letter now!"
Doretta, having endeavored to remove the ink-spot by licking it, has torn the paper.
"Oh, dear, I shall have to copy it out now," she says, in a mortified tone.
"You can copy it this evening. Bring it here, and let me look at it. . . . Not bad,—not bad at all. A few letters to be added, and a few to be taken out; but, on the whole, for a chit of your size, it's fairly creditable. Good girl!"
Doretta rests upon her laurels, playing with her doll Nini. She dresses Nini in her best gown, and takes her to call on the cat, Melanio.
The cat, Melanio, who is dozing with halfopen eyes, is somewhat bored by these attentions. Raising himself on his four paws, he arches his flexible body, and then rolls himself up into a ball, turning his back upon his visitor.
"Dear me, Melanio is not very polite to-day," says Doretta, escorting the doll back to the sofa. "But you must n't be offended; he's very seldom impolite. I think it must be the weather;
