"The horrid old thing!" she exclaimed; "I am always tripping over it,"
and as she glanced at Dora the two girls broke into a laugh. "I expect
you think I look like a perfect guy," she said, as they seated
themselves, "and so I do, but you see the calf is not much more than a
week old, and its mother has entirely deserted it, and kicks and horns at
it if it comes near her. It got to be so weak it could scarcely stand up,
and I have adopted it, and feed it out of this bottle. The first time I
did it I nearly ruined the dress I had on, and so I went to the garret
and got this old gown, which covers me up very well, though it looks
dreadfully, and is awfully awkward."
"To whom did it belong?" asked Dora. "It is made in such a queer
way,--not like really old-fashioned things."
"I am sure I don't know to whom it belonged," said Miriam. "There are
all sorts of things in our garret,--except things that are good for some
particular purpose,--and this old gown was the best I could find to
cover me up. It looks funny, but then the whole of it is
funny,--calf-feeding and all.
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