"Dorothy, come here a minute!" she cried,
imperatively. Dorothy left her wheel and went to the door. "Look here,"
said the eldest daughter, "I have one honey-cake left, and I have eaten
all I want. I will give you this if you will mend my apron for me."
Dorothy eyed the honey-cake wistfully, but she replied that she did not
dare to leave her spinning to mend the apron.
"Why can't you mend it in the night?" asked the eldest daughter.
"I will do that," replied Dorothy, eagerly, and she held out her hand
for the honey-cake. Just as she did so she saw the little boy that lived
next door peeping through his fence. His beautiful little face, with his
red cheeks and black eyes, looked, through the pickets, like a
damask-rose. Dorothy ran swiftly over to him with her honey-cake. "You
shall have half of it," said she, and she quickly broke the cake in
halves, and gave one of them to the little boy. He lived with his old
grandmother, and they were very poor; it was hard for them to get the
coarsest porridge to eat. The little boy often stood looking through the
fence and smiling at Dorothy, and the old grandmother spoke kindly to
her whenever she had an opportunity.
The little boy stood on one side of the fence and Dorothy on the other,
and they ate the honey-cake. Then Dorothy ran back to the house and fell
to spinning again. She spun so fast, to make up for the lost time, that
one could not see the wheel-spokes at all, and the room hummed like a
hive of bees.
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