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Little Prudy Stories
LITTLE PRUDY
BY
SOPHIE MAY
Author of "Little Prudy Stories," "Dotty Dimple Stories,"
"Flaxie Frizzle Stories," "Little Prudy's Flyaway Series,"
"Little Prudy's Children Series," "Pauline Wyman," "Joy Bells," etc.
BOSTON
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
COPYRIGHT, 1891, BY REBECCA S. CLARKE.
* * * * *
DEDICATION
TO THE LITTLE PUBLIC
A Merry Christmas, dear Children
You who have read of Prudy Parlin, in the "Congregationalist" and
"Little Pilgrim," and have learned to love her there, may love her
better in a book by herself with pictures.
To you who never saw her before, we will introduce her now. It is easy
to feel acquainted with Prudy; for she is, as you will find, a very
talkative little lady.
There is no end of things which might be told of Susy, Grace, and
Horace; and if you wish to hear more about them, you have only to wait
a little while.
God is sending us another year as fresh and clean as the purest paper.
Let us thank Him for it, and try to write it over with kind thoughts
and good deeds; then it will be for all of us
_A HAPPY NEW YEAR!_
* * * * *
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I. PRUDY'S PATCHWORK,
II. PRUDY GOING UP TO HEAVEN,
III. PRUDY'S KNITTING-WORK,
IV. PRUDY'S PICNIC,
V. PRUDY IN THE PINES,
VI. PRUDY SICK,
VII. PRUDY'S PRESENT,
VIII. PRUDY FISHING,
IX. THE HATCHET STORY,
X. MORE STORIES,
XI. PRUDY'S WHITE TEA,
XII. PRUDY TRYING TO HELP,
XIII. THE GYPSY SUPPER,
XIV. THE ANGEL-BABY,
XV. GOING HOME,
* * * * *
LITTLE PRUDY
CHAPTER I
PRUDY'S PATCHWORK
I am going to tell you something about a little girl who was always
saying and doing funny things, and very often getting into trouble.
Her name was Prudy Parlin, and she and her sister Susy, three years
older, lived in Portland, in the State of Maine, though every summer
they went to Willowbrook, to visit their grandmother.
At the very first of our story, Susy was more than six years old, and
Prudy was between three and four. Susy could sew quite well for a
girl of her age, and had a stint every day. Prudy always thought it
very fine to do just as Susy did, so she teased her mother to let
_her_ have some patchwork, too, and Mrs. Parlin gave her a few calico
pieces, just to keep her little fingers out of mischief.
But when the squares were basted together, she broke needles, pricked
her fingers, and made a great fuss; sometimes crying, and wishing
there were no such thing as patchwork.
One morning she sat in her rocking-chair, doing what she thought was a
"_stint_." She kept running to her mother with every stitch, saying,
"Will that do?" Her mother was very busy, and said, "My little
daughter must not come to me." So Prudy sat down near the door, and
began to sew with all her might; but soon her little baby sister came
along, looking so cunning, that Prudy dropped her needle, and went to
hugging her.
"O, little sister," cried she, "I wouldn't have a horse come and eat
you up for any thing in the world!"
After this, of course, her mother had to get her another needle, and
then thread it for her. She went to sewing again till she pricked her
finger, and the sight of the wee drop of blood made her cry.
"O, dear! I wish somebody would pity me!" But her mother was so busy
frying doughnuts that she could not stop to talk much; and the next
thing she saw of Prudy she was at the farther end of the room, while
her patchwork lay on the spice box.
"Prudy, Prudy, what are you up to now?"
"Up to the table," said Prudy. "O, mother, I'm so sorry, but I've
broke a crack in the pitcher!"
"What will mamma do with you? You haven't finished your stint--what
made you get out of your chair?"
"O, I thought grandma might want me to get her _speckles_. I thought I
would go and find Zip too. See, mamma, he's so tickled to see me he
shakes all over--every bit of him!"
"Where's your patchwork?"
"I don't know. You've got a double name, haven't you, doggie? It's Zip
Coon, but it isn't a _very_ double name,--is it, mother?"
When Mrs. Parlin had finished her doughnuts, she said, "Pussy, you
can't keep still two minutes. Now, if you want to sew this patchwork
for grandma's quilt, I'll tell you what I shall do. There's an empty
hogshead in the back kitchen, and I'll lift you into that, and you
can't climb out. I'll lift you out when your stint is done."
"O, what a funny little house," said Prudy, when she was inside; and
as she spoke, her voice startled her--it was so loud and hollow. "I'll
talk some more," thought she, "it makes such a queer noise.--'Old Mrs.
Hogshead, I thought I'd come and see you, and bring my work. I like
your house, ma'am, only I should think you'd want some windows. I
s'pose you know who I am, Mrs. Hogshead? My name is Prudy. My mother
didn't put me in here because I was a naughty girl, for I haven't done
nothing--nor nothing--nor nothing. Do you want to hear some singing?
'O, come, come away,
From labor now reposin';
Let _busy Caro, wife of Barrow_,
Come, come away!'"
"Prudy, what's the matter?" said mamma, from the next room.
"Didn't you hear somebody singing?" said Prudy; "well, 'twas me."
"O, I was afraid you were crying, my dear."
"Then I'll stop," said the child. "Now, Mrs. Hogshead, you won't hear
me singing any more,--it _mortifies_ my mother very much."
So Prudy made her fingers fly, and soon said, "Now, mamma, I've got it
done, and I'm ready to be _took out_!"
Just then her father came into the house. "Prudy's in the hogshead,"
said Mrs. Parlin. "Won't you please lift her out, father? I've got
baby in my arms."
Mr. Parlin peeped into the hogshead. "How in this world did you ever
get in here, child?" said he. "I think I'll have to take you out with
a pair of tongs."
Prudy laughed.
"Give me your hands," said papa. "Up she comes! Now, come sit on my
knee," added he, when they had gone into the parlor, "and tell me how
you climbed into that hogshead."
"Mother dropped me in, and I'm going to stay there till I make a
bedquilt, only I'm coming out to eat, you know."
Mr. Parlin laughed; but just then the dinner bell rang, and when they
went to the table, Prudy was soon so busy with her roasted chicken and
custard pie that she forgot all about the patchwork.