Down the long, dusty road trudged Randy and Prue one hot morning on
their way to the village store.
At every step the dust arose like smoke, then settled upon their shoes,
making a thick coating like that which whitened the blackberry vines
growing luxuriantly over the wall by the roadside.
Randy was far from pleased to be taking this long walk in the dust and
heat. She had been sitting upon the rough, wooden seat just outside the
kitchen door, reading the beloved fairy book, when her mother had
stepped briskly to the doorway, calling her back from fairyland
abruptly, saying: "Come, Randy, you must go down to the store after some
sugar. I've got my cookies 'bout half done and my sugar's given out, so
you must put on your sunbonnet and take Prue, and go as quick as you
can. Ye needn't run, only don't waste time."
"Oh, mother," said Randy, "it'll take me twice as long if I have to take
Prue, she's so little, and she walks so slow."
"I know it," said Mrs. Weston, "but I've got lots to do while you're
gone, and I can't watch her and work at the same time; so you take her
'long o' you, and I'll know she's all right."
Randy took her sunbonnet from its peg on the wall and called little
Prue, who was playing in the sun. The child's delight when told that she
might go to the store with Randy made the elder girl regret that she had
demurred when told that she must take her little sister with her.
Prue laughed with delight, and, thrusting her little sunburned hand into
Randy's, she trudged along, scuffling her feet and laughing to see the
dust rise in little gray clouds.
At any other time Randy would have checked Prue, but that day her mind
was too much occupied with the heroine of the fairy tale to notice
Prue's movements or comment upon them; but Prue was getting tired of
walking in silence, while Randy indulged herself in day-dreams.
"Why don't you talk, Randy? You haven't talked any since we started,"
said Prue.
"Oh, it's too hot to talk," answered Randy, and she once more relapsed
into silence.
Prue dropped Randy's hand, and, leaving the road, she clambered upon the
wall to hunt among the dusty vines for blackberries. There were more
leaves than fruit, so the little girl, after finding a few small
berries, walked along upon the wall until she came to another lot of
vines, where she again searched for fruit.
While Prue looked for berries Randy was critically inspecting her own
and her little sister's costume. How ugly they looked! The girl who, up
to that time, had never seen any one arrayed in anything more beautiful
than a print or gingham gown, varied by a long apron of blue-checked
cotton, or a dark, chocolate-colored calico, now looked with startling
dislike upon that style of apparel.
"Only think," mused Randy, "if we wore white dresses and fine shoes, and
big hats, 'twouldn't seem near as hot doing errands. Seems as though we
could sit still in meeting if we had on different clothes and--why, Prue,
what's the matter?" cried Randy, in answer to a doleful wail from the
little sister.
"Oh, my foot, my foot!" screamed Prue; "it hurts drefful, and I can't
get it out."
"Let me see," said Randy. "Hold still a minute; I can get it out, Prue,"
which, however, proved to be easier said than done. While walking upon
the wall the little foot had slipped between the stones and seemed
firmly fixed.
Randy worked gently and patiently, and at last the little foot was out
of prison. Prue insisted upon having her shoe and stocking taken off,
saying that her foot felt "awful big," and sure enough it had become a
trifle swollen. Randy tried in every way to soothe her, assuring her
that it was but a short walk to the store, but Prue wailed dismally.
"Oh, I can't walk, Randy, my foot aches just drefful, and I can't have
any shoes on, 'cause my foot has grown big."
Randy blamed herself for the mishap. "I ought to have been taking care
of Prue instead of thinking of fine clothes," thought Randy. "It ought
to have been me that got hurt instead of little Prue. 'Twould have
served me right for being real silly, almost vain, I do believe." And
thus she berated herself.
Poor, repentant Randy! Careless she had been, but surely not wicked. She
was utterly at a loss to know what to do. "Don't you think you could
walk slowly, Prue, if I put my hands under your arms to help you?" she
asked coaxingly.
"Randy, how can I walk when this foot is most twice as big as my other
foot?" said Prue.
Randy thought a moment. Then she said: "There's only one thing to do,
Prue. You can look right down the road and see the store from here. You
sit still where you are, and I'll run and get the sugar; it won't take
but a few minutes, and when I get back I'll carry you home in my arms.
You can hold the sugar and I'll carry you."
Prue tried bravely to stop crying, and although she declared that her
foot felt "worser," she promised to be patient until Randy should
return. The store was in the front part of a farm-house but a short
distance from where the two sat upon the wall, and Randy rushed off down
the road and in at the open door, in such evident haste that Silas
Barnes looked at the girl in amazement.
"In a kind of hurry, ain't ye?" said he, as in his usual deliberate
manner he weighed the sugar.
"Yes, oh, yes," answered Randy, as she almost snatched the bundle and
darted out of the door and ran up the road to where Prue sat upon the
wall, a most disconsolate little heap, trying very hard to be brave, but
sobbing in spite of all endeavor.
"Now, you carry the sugar--just think what a sweet bundle--and I'll take
you. My arms are real strong, so I believe I can carry you easily."
Prue hugged the parcel, and taking her little sister in her arms Randy
stepped out bravely toward home. It seemed to her that she could not
remember such intense heat as she that day experienced. They had taken
off their sunbonnets as they sat upon the wall, and in their haste they
had started for home, leaving them where they had dropped them, so that
their heads were unprotected from the scorching rays of the sun, which
was now directly overhead.
[Illustration: Randy carrying Prue in her Arms]
Many times Randy was obliged to set Prue upon the wall, just long enough
to rest her aching arms; then taking her again, she bravely trudged on
toward home.
Just as she concluded that her arms would surely break, she heard the
sound of wheels behind her, and looking over her shoulder she saw
Obadiah Gray's old mare, Clover, jogging along and in the wagon the
beautiful young girl whom she had so much admired at church.
"There's that pretty girl whom I saw in church last Sunday," thought
Helen Dayton. "How much prettier she looks without that ugly sunbonnet.
Why, she has her little sister in her arms, and the little one is
crying. I'll stop and speak to them." Old Clover, always delighted to
stop, came to a standstill, and Randy looked up shyly at Helen's
beautiful face.
"Are you not tired?" said Miss Dayton. "I see that you are carrying your
little sister." Then, as she noticed the swollen foot, she said: "Oh,
how did she hurt her foot? Do let me take you home."
Randy was only too glad to accept the invitation so sweetly given; so
Prue was gently lifted to a place beside Miss Dayton, and then Randy
clambered in, not only thankful for the ride, but positively charmed to
be with the lovely driver.
"Now, tell me," said Helen, "how your little sister injured her foot."
So Randy told her the whole story, and blamed herself more than she
deserved. "If I hadn't been wishing that I had a big, beautiful hat
like"--but here Randy stopped abruptly, as she noticed, for the first
time, that Miss Dayton was wearing the very hat and dress which so
filled her mind that morning.
"What was the hat like? Anything like the one I am wearing this
morning?" asked Helen, sweetly.
"Well, yes, just like it," admitted Randy, blushing.
"Did you so much admire my hat?" said Helen. "Well, who knows but that
on some fine day you may have one quite like it."
When, at last, they had reached Randy's home, both Prue and Randy had
become quite well acquainted with their new friend.
Mr. Weston had just come in from the field, in answer to a blast from
the dinner horn, and was as anxious as his wife when told that the
children had been gone two hours and a half. "I guess I'll have to
harness up and go down to the store and see if they're--sakes alive! Here
they be now, with that 'stonishing pretty boarder of Obadiah Gray's,"
and Mr. Weston hastened down the walk to thank the young lady for her
kindness.
"I'm much 'bleeged to ye for bringing the children home; mother and I
was getting anxious. Randy, here, is going on fifteen, and pretty tall
of her age, but we still call them the children, and Randy, she's
reliable; so, when she don't appear at the right time, we know that
something's up. Why, Prue, where's your shoe and stocking?"
"Oh, father," said Randy, "you won't say I was reliable this time."
"Now, Mr. Weston," said Helen Dayton, "Randy blames herself for Prue's
injured foot, but she has bravely carried her little sister up the long
hill from the store, and I think accuses herself too harshly."
"Like enough," said Randy's father. "Randy's conscience is all out of
proportion to her size." Then, once more thanking Helen heartily for her
kindness, he took little Prue into his arms saying, kindly: "There,
there, little daughter, I wouldn't cry any more. You're home now, and
mother'll know just how to fix your foot all right; and, Randy, ye may
have let yer thoughts wander, so to speak, but you didn't make Prue hurt
her foot, and ye've more than made up fer it all by bein' so truly
sorry, and tryin' to bring her home. She's a little girl, but she's
solid for a girl of your size to carry. 'Stead of blamin' and accusin'
yourself, you just help mother to make Prue comfortable, and then you
amuse her with the fairy book, and, may be, she'll forget how bad her
foot aches."
"I'll do it," said Randy, delighted to think that she could in any way
be useful to her little sister, and so well did she amuse her that in
the middle of the sixth fairy tale Prue was sound asleep.
As soon as Mrs. Weston had seen the little foot, she had given it a bath
in hot water, bound securely about it a hot bandage, and told little
Prue that she must be quite still.
"I will, if Randy will read to me," said Prue. So Randy read story after
story, until the little sister was asleep.
Randy sat beside her, intending to read to her again if she awoke, but
Prue had cried with the aching foot until she was very tired, so she
slept soundly. Once she stirred, and thrust her chubby hand under her
head, murmuring as she did so. Randy bent over her, to hear what she
said.
"The big stones squeezed my foot, so course it wasn't my Randy did it,"
murmured Prue. "My Randy wouldn't do such a thing to me. My Randy's just
about right always and she--" but here her voice faltered and that which
commenced in a sentence ended in a sigh. A bright tear glistened in
Randy's gray eyes. How lovingly little Prue held her above the
possibility of anything wrong.
"I must try hard to be as good as Prue thinks I am," thought Randy, and,
bending, she kissed the little one ever so gently so as not to awaken
her; "for," thought Randy, "while she sleeps she doesn't know her foot
aches, and when she wakes I'll read or do anything she wishes me to, to
amuse her."
And Randy kept her promise. The injury, although not serious, was quite
painful, and Prue declared that Randy was "'most an angel," so patient
and entertaining was she, reading the same story over and over again if
it chanced to please her.
In a few days Prue was able to be about, and Randy was every bit as
happy as her little sister, to see that the swelling had disappeared and
the wee foot back to its usual size. There was one story with which Prue
seemed the most pleased and which she wished oftenest to hear.
That was the story of the "Sleeping Beauty," but it mattered not how
many times she heard it, she never could tell it straight.
One day Prue's mother said that the little girl would be wise if she
rested her foot all the afternoon. "I'll sit still on the 'lunge,'" said
Prue, "if you'll listen to a bea-utiful story called the 'Sleeping
Beauty.' I guess I can tell it 'most right; do you want to hear it,
mother?"
Now this was a trial to Mrs. Weston's patience. She had glanced hastily
at a few pages of the fairy book and had declared it to be "clear
foolishness," adding, "if it amuses Randy and Prue, I do'no as I care;
but it puzzles me how they can enjoy it."
But, thinking to please her little daughter and make her willing to sit
still, she promised to listen attentively to Prue's narrative, adding
under her breath, "I guess I can stand it for once, if it is foolish."
So she handed the book to Prue, who declared that, although she couldn't
read, she could tell the story better by looking at the pictures.
Mrs. Weston brought her sewing to the window nearest the lounge where
Prue sat as if enthroned, and the youthful entertainer commenced at once
to tell the story as she remembered it. As Randy afterward said with
stifled laughter, "If that is the best Prue could tell the story with
the pictures to help her, how much more could she have twisted it
without the book?"
"Once upon a time (they all commence that way)," said Prue, "there was a
little girl so be-autiful that folks 'most went crazy who saw her, an'
her father was tickled to see how handsome she was when she was a baby;
an' one time when she was fifteen (that's what Randy is)--no, I forgot,
when the baby, that's the princess, you know, was a bein'
chris-chris-chris-tened, there was a lot of fairies that bringed her
presents, and one was mad because she didn't be invited, and she did
something awful, but I've forgot what.
"Then the beautiful princess went to sleep a hun-dred years" (here
Prue's eyes grew round with excitement), "and she grew older and older
every minute--no, no, she didn't. I mean she didn't grow older a' tall."
Here Randy turned hastily to gaze out of the window, and Prue,
fortunately, failed to notice her sister's very evident effort to
conceal her amusement.
"Then everybody in the house--no, palace--went sound asleep and snored,
and they never waked up 'til the prince kissed them--oh, no, he only
kissed the princess. Mother, why do you s'pose he didn't kiss anybody
but the princess? Shouldn't you a thought he would?"
Without waiting for an answer, however, Prue babbled on.
"They was married and lived happy ever after, and all the folks waked
up, and the horses, and cows, and cats, and dogs, all wagged their tails
'cause they was awake too. Isn't that a wonderful story?"
"I should say it was," ejaculated practical Mrs. Weston. "Nothing less
than wonderful."
Mrs. Weston folded the garment which she had been mending, and saying,
kindly, "That was a long story for a little girl to try to tell," she
went out to the kitchen to make preparation for tea, leaving Prue still
looking at the pictures in the fairy book. Randy stole out to the
kitchen.
"Oh, mother," she said, looking up wistfully, "I know you think it funny
that I can like fairy stories almost as well as Prue does; but, truly,
Prue does not tell them straight. They're not true, of course, but they
do sound pretty when you read them straight through instead of 'mixed
up' as she gets them."
"I know, of course," said her mother, "that Prue has a funny way of
telling anything. If you enjoy the stories, I'm sure I don't care, only
don't ask me to read them. I want to read something that's somewhat
probable," and Randy was obliged to be satisfied with that.
Mrs. Weston's mind was utterly void of imagination, and to read to her
of magic locks, of sleep which, lasting a hundred years, left the
sleeper youthful and beautiful, of wild wishes granted, of people turned
to stone, and back to life again, simply tried her patience and amused
her not at all.