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“I will be the white maiden to be captured,” said Dimple, as Bubbles coolly proceeded to take off her frock, displaying a red flannel petticoat.”I’ll hunt up the feathers, and you get ready,” Dimple went on. “And the shawl—we must have the striped shawl for a blanket,” and, running into the house, she soon came out with a little striped shawl, and a handful of stiff feathers. The shawl was arranged over Bubbles’ shoulders, and produced a fine effect, when the feathers were stuck in her head.
“Is yuh asleep, Miss Dimple?”
“No,” said Dimple, drowsily.
“Why, Bubbles,” replied Dimple, “if you were asleep you wouldn’t be talking.”
“Folks talks in their sleep sometimes, Miss Dimple,” answered Bubbles, opening her black eyes.
“Well, maybe they do, but your eyes are open now.”
“I have heerd of people sleepin’ with their eyes open,” returned Bubbles, nothing abashed.
“O, Bubbles, I don’t believe it; for that is how to go to sleep; mamma says, ‘shut your eyes and go to sleep,’ she never says, ‘open your eyes and go to sleep;’ so there!”
Bubbles sat thoughtfully looking at her toes, having nothing to say when Dimple brought her mamma into the question.
“I’ll tell you what, Bubbles,” said Dimple, after a moment’s pause, rising from the long grass where the two had been sitting. “Let’s play Indian. You make such a lovely Indian, just like a real one. I am almost afraid of you when you are painted up, and have feathers in your head.”
Bubbles grinned at the compliment.