THE NESTLINGS.
An hour or two after this, Mrs. Parlin, Susy, Prudy, and Zip went to
visit Mrs. Eastman, who now lived a little way out of town.
Dotty was driving ducks, and did not see her mother and sisters when
they started.
"Where is they, Nono? And where's Prudy?"
"Gone walking. Your mamma told you they were going," replied Norah,
setting a basin of water and a brush and comb on the stand.
"Well, Prudy's runned away," cried Dotty, "Naughty girl; made out o'
dirt!"
"Come here, Miss Dimple, and let me brush your hair."
"Well, here's my hair, Nono, but you mustn't pull it; 'tisn't _your_
hair! O, I want to kiss my mamma, I do!"
"Your mamma will be back again this evening."
"Don't want to kiss her in the evening--want to kiss her now!"
"What makes you in such a hurry to kiss your mother?"
"O, I just only want to tell her to whip Prudy. Naughty Prudy runned
away! Made out o' dirt!"
Dotty always looked very low-spirited while her long hair was being
curled over a stick, and now was more unhappy than usual, for it was
one of her "temper days."
But at last cousin Percy Eastman happened to call in, and declared he
must take his pretty cousin home with him in the carriage.
"I'll get her ready," said Norah; "but you're sure to be sorry if you
take her, for she's brimming over with mischief to-day."
Dotty danced like a piece of thistledown. "There, Nono," said she, "I's
goin' to auntie's my own self; Prudy'll have to give up."
All this time Mrs. Parlin and the two older children were having a fine
walk. It was a bright June day. Prudy said she had to sing to herself
for all the things she saw looked as happy as if they were alive. As
Prudy talked, she flew from flower to flower, like a honey-bee.
"I can't wait for Prudy to walk so zigzag," said Susy.
Mrs. Parlin suggested that Susy should keep on, and tell her aunt
Eastman they were coming. Then she allowed Prudy to walk as "zigzag" as
she pleased; for Mrs. Parlin had long patience with her children.
"O, mamma," said Prudy, suddenly stopping short, and standing on one
foot; "if there isn't a cow!"
"I see, my dear, she is eating the sweet grass."
"Yes, 'm; but don't its horns flare out like a pitchfork? Do you s'pose
he knows how easy he could toss folks right up in the air?"
"I hope my little daughter is not afraid of a gentle cow."
"No, indeed," cried Prudy, clinging fast to her mother's hand. "Poh! if
I was afraid of a cow I'd be a cow--ard. I'd as lief he'd see me as not,
if you'll shake your parasol at him, mamma."
Prudy breathed more freely when the cow was out of sight.
Soon she saw something which caused her to forget her terror. Peeping in
among the branches of a small tree, she espied what she called a "live
bird's nest." Never having seen any young birds before, she wondered at
first "who had picked off their feathers." The wee things seemed to be
left to themselves while their mother was away providing supper.
"Haven't they very big stretchy mouths, for such small birdies?" said
Prudy. "Aren't you afraid they'll crack their mouths in two, gaping so,
mamma?"
"They are only hungry, child. Suppose you feed them with a bit of a
berry."
Prudy nipped a strawberry into three parts with her thumb and
forefinger, and dropped the pieces into their mouths.
"O, mamma, they swallowed it whole! they swallowed it whole! Their teeth
haven't come!"
Prudy's fresh delight and surprise were so pleasant to witness that her
mother allowed her to linger for a while, mincing berries for the
nestlings supper.
When, at last, they reached Mrs. Eastman's, Prudy eagerly described the
young wonders she had found.
"It was like a story," said she, "of little widow-children,--how the
mother was dead, and the children had to stay alone."
"Children are never widows," said Susy, laughing; "it isn't possible!
But if their parents die, they are orphans sometimes."
"That's just what I meant," exclaimed Prudy, looking crestfallen. "I
should think you might know what I mean, 'thout laughing at me,
either."
Before long Dotty Dimple arrived, in great triumph. She threw her chubby
arms about her mother's neck, saying, "Is I your little comfort, mamma?
I camed in the hoss and carriage. S'an't give Prudy no supper--will you?
'Cause Prudy runned away!"
"I should not have allowed this child to come," said Mrs. Parlin, at the
tea table; "but cousin Percy always picks up the stray babies, and gives
them a ride."
Dotty looked as if she could easily forgive her cousin Percy. But there
was one thing that made her nice supper taste like "spoiled nectar," and
that was the sight of Prudy enjoying her strawberries and cream.
If she had runned away, as Dotty insisted upon believing, why was she
not shut up in the closet? Strange to say, dearly as Dotty loved this
kind sister, she enjoyed seeing her punished. She was vexed because
Prudy was allowed, after all, to sit at the table with the rest of the
family. The little creature was very tired, for she had driven ducks all
the long summer day. She was also a little sleepy; and, more than all,
it was one of her "temper days," when everything went wrong.
After tea she had a serious quarrel with her little cousin Johnny, over
a dead squirrel, which they both tried to feed with sugared water, from
a teaspoon.
"Johnny," cried she, "don't you touch his mouf any more! If you do, I
s'an't w'ip you, Johnny, but I'll sp'inkle some ashes on your head! Yes,
I will."
Johnny, heedless of the threat, tried again to force open Bunny's stiff
mouth, Dotty's beautiful eyes blazed.
Without a word she walked off proudly to the kitchen, and came back with
a handful of cold ashes, which she freely sifted into Johnny's flaxen
hair. Mrs. Parlin saw that it was high time to take her youngest
daughter home.
"O, mother," said Prudy, who always felt herself disgraced by her little
sister's bad conduct, "sometimes Dotty pretty nearly makes you cry!
Don't you almost wish you hadn't any such little girl?"
"My dear child, I am her _mother_, and she could hardly do anything so
naughty that I should cast her out of my heart. When she has these
freaks of temper, I think, 'God bears with me, and I will try to bear
with my little one. I will wait. One of these days, when her reason
grows, she will be a real blessing to us all.'"
Mrs. Parlin proceeded to put on Dotty's outer wrappings, saying she must
be taken home. The child struggled and screamed, and declared she
"_would_ be good, she _would_ be a comfort;" but her mother was firm,
though her sweet temper never for a moment forsook her. Susy and Prudy
looked on, and learned a lesson in patience which was worth twenty
lectures.
Percy Eastman was as glad to carry his spirited little cousin back as he
had been to bring her to his house. Mrs. Parlin rode too; but Susy and
Prudy walked.
When they came to the tree which contained the birds' nest, Prudy parted
the branches, but the nestlings were not to be seen; the mother-bird had
gathered them under her wings, out of sight.
"Hush!" whispered Susy; "hear them peep! Let's go; we'll frighten the
old birdie out of her wits."
"I wish you could see them, Susy; then you'd know how cunning they are;
and now you never'll know. But it doesn't seem a bit like orphan
children since their mother's got home."
"Makes me think of _our_ mamma, and _her_ three little children," said
Susy, taking her sister's hand.
"Yes," said Prudy, her face radiant with a glow of love, warm from her
heart; "how good our mother always is, and always was, before ever our
_reasons_ grew! Think what we'd do this night, Susy Parlin, if there
wasn't any _mother_ to our house!"