o stay at home?"
Emily shrugged her shoulders.
"My paw killed a man."
"I don't know what a paw is," said Dotty.
"O, Flyaway Clifford, you've broken a teapot!"
"No matter," said Emily, kindly; "'twas made out of a gone-to-seed poppy. Don't you know what a paw is? Why, it's a _paw_"
In spite of this clear explanation, Dotty did not understand any better than before.
"It was the man that married my maw, only maw died, and then there was another one, and she scolded and shook me."
"O, I s'pose you mean a father 'n mother; now I know."
"I want to tell you," pursued Emily, who loved to talk to strangers. "She didn't care if I was blind; she used to shake me just the same. And my paw had fits."
The other children, who had often heard this story, did not listen to it with great interest, but went on with their various plays, leaving Emily and Dotty standing together before Emily's baby-house.
"Yes, my paw had fits. I knew when they were coming, for I could smell them in the bottle."
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