Little Prudy's Dotty Dimple

Alice was the youngest of the Parlin family. When Grandma Read called the children into the kitchen, and told them about their new little sister, Susy danced for joy; and Prudy, in her delight, opened the cellar door, and fell down the whole length of the stairs. However, she rolled as softly as a pincushion, and was not seriously hurt.

"But you can't go into mother's room," said Susy, "you're crying so hard."

"Poh!" replied three-years-old Prudy, twinkling off the tears; "yes, I can neither. I won't go crying in! I didn't hurt me velly bad. I'm weller now!"

So she had the first peep at the wee dot of a baby in the nurse's arms.

"O, dear, dear," said she, "what shall I do? I are so glad! I wish I could jump clear up to the sky of this room! How do you do, little sister?"

The baby made no reply.

"Why! don't you love me? This is me: my name's Prudy. I've got a red pocket dress;-Santa Claw bringed it."

Still the little stranger paid no heed,-only winked her small, bright eyes, and at last closed them entirely.

"O, my stars! she don't hear the leastest thing," sobbed Prudy, glad of an excuse to cry again. "She can't hear the leastest mite of a thing! Where's the holes in her ears gone to? O, dear, dear!"

It seemed to Susy that this was the happiest day of her life. She stole up to her mother and kissed her. "O, mamma," said she, "wasn't God good to send this little sister?-Why, I'm crying," added Susy, greatly surprised: "what do you suppose makes me cry, when I'm happy all over-clear to the ends of my fingers?"

"Yes, your eyes are sprinklin' down tears, but you're laughing all over your face; and so 'm I," said little Prudy, delighted to see some one else as foolish as herself.

"Susan, I hope thee'll receive this new sister as a gift from God," said grandma Read, wiping her spectacles.

"It seems so funny," said Susy, gently stroking the baby's face; "so funny for me to have a new sister."

"Now you've tolled a story, Susy Parlin; she was sended to me,-isn't I the littlest?" cried bruised and battered Prudy, shaking with another tempest of tears, and kissing the baby violently.

"O, mamma! O, grandma," said Susy, clasping her hands in alarm, "don't let her kiss that soft baby so hard! She'll draw the blood right through her cheeks."

The nurse who was a smiling woman, with a wart on her nose, began to frown a little, and grandma Read, patting Prudy's head, whispered to her that if she did not stop crying she must leave the room, as the noise she made disturbed her mother.

"Then I'll-I'll be-just as good as a lady, and I won't kiss her no more," replied little Prudy between her sobs, at the same time prying open baby's mouth with her busy fingers.

"Why, where's her teef? When you goin' to put in her teef?"

"O," said Susy, in an ecstasy, "isn't she such a velvet darling? What cunning little footsie-tootsies! Shaped just like a flatiron! But I haven't seen her eyes yet."

"There, look now," said Prudy, puffing in the baby's face; "her eyes has came! I've blowed 'em open."

"O, fie, Miss Prudy," said the nurse, biting her lips; "now you'll certainly have to leave the room. It's not safe for you to come near this tiny bit of a baby. Nobody ever knows what you are likely to do next."

Little Prudy hung her head in great dismay.

"Then, if she goes, I'll have to go too, or there'll be a fuss," sighed Susy, stroking the baby's hair, which was as soft as a mouse's fur.

Both children cast a lingering look at the bewitching little figure, so daintily wrapped in a fleecy blanket. Prudy felt tempted to snatch her up and give her a good hugging, but stood in mortal fear of the nurse. There was something awful about Mrs. Fling: Prudy presumed it was the wart on her nose.

When the children were outside the door, and grandma had closed it gently, they seated themselves on the upper step of the staircase, and began to talk over this strange affair.

"Don't you know what made me cry in there?" said Prudy. "The baby isn't only a girl, and that's why I cried."

For the moment Prudy fancied she was telling the truth.

Susy laughed. "Just to think of our keeping a boy in this house, Prudy Parlin!"

"O, no! course not!" returned her little sister, quickly; "we wouldn't keep a boy."

"You see," argued Susy, "it's boys that fires all the popguns, and whistle in your ears, and frighten you. Why, if this was a brother, we couldn't but just live! What made you cry for a brother, Prudy?"

"Poh, I didn't! I wouldn't have him for nothin' in my world! I'm glad God sended a girl, and that's what made me laugh."

"It seems so queer to think of it Prudy, I don't know what to do with myself, I declare."

"Well, I know what I'm goin' to do. I'll give her my red pocket-dress. She's come clear down from God's house, and this is a drefful cold world."

Susy knew that little Prudy's heart must be overflowing with sisterly love to the baby, or she would not be willing to give her the pocket-dress.

"She can tuck her candy in it," pursued Prudy; "'tisn't a believe-make, you know; there's a hole clear through. She can tuck her candy in, and her pyunes and pfigs, and teenty apples. Oho!"

"'Twill be as mother says about giving her your dress, Prudy; but we shall be glad to see you kind to the new sister," said Susy, who was fond of giving small lectures to Prudy. "We ought to be kind to her, for God sent her down on purpose. Of course it will be me that will take the most care of her; but maybe they'll let you watch her sometimes when she's asleep. Don't blow open her eyes any more, Prudy; that's very naughty. If we do just as we ought to, and are kind to her, she'll be a comfort, and grow up a lady!"

"O, will she?" asked Prudy, a little sadly. "I thought when she growed up she'd be a gemplum, like papa."

"What an idea! But that's just as much sense as you little bits o' children have! When you don't know about anything, Prudy, you may come and ask me; I'm most six."

The new baby was very wonderful indeed. The first thing she did was to cry; the next was to sneeze. Prudy wished "all the people down street, and all the ladies that lived in the whole o' the houses, could see the new sister." Her heart swelled with pride when admiring ladies took the unconscious little creature in their arms, saying, "Really, it is a remarkably pretty child. What starry eyes! What graceful little fingers! Isn't her mouth shaped like Prudy's?"

Mrs. Parlin did not approve of cradles, and the nurse had a fashion of rolling the baby in a blanket and laying her down in all sorts of places. One day little Prudy flung herself into the big rocking chair, not noticing the small bundle which lay there, under a silk handkerchief.

It was feared at first that the baby was crushed to death; but when she was heard to cry, Mrs. Parlin said, "We have great cause for thankfulness. So far as I can judge, it is only her nose that is broken!"

But the doctor pronounced the baby's bones as sound as ever.

"It is only little Miss Prudy whose nose is out of joint," added he.

Prudy ran to look in the glass, but could not see anything the matter with her nose, or anything that looked like "a joint." But after this she was as careful as a child of her heedless age can be, not to injure her tender sister. She never again saw a silk handkerchief without shaking it to make sure there was not a baby under it.

It was a long while before the friends could decide upon a name for this beautiful stranger.

"For my part I have no choice," said Mr. Parlin, "and only one remark to make; call the child by her right name, whatever it may be, for I am very much opposed to pet names, of all sorts."

After every one else had spoken, Mrs. Parlin suggested that she would like to call the baby Alice Barrow, in honor of a dear friend, now in heaven.

She grew to be a fair, fat baby; and while her teeth were pricking through, like little pointed pearls, Susy's front teeth were dropping out. Then she grew to be a toddling child; and while she was learning to walk, Prudy was beginning to sew patchwork. For time does not stand still; it passed, minute by minute, over the heads of Susy, Prudy, and Alice, as well as all the rest of the world. And soon it brought an end to Alice's babyhood.

* * *

In spite of all Mr. Parlin had said against it, his little daughter was called by various pet names,-such as Midge, and Ladybird, and Forget-me-not. Very few were the people who seemed to remember that her name was Alice.

She had a pair of busy dimples, which were a constant delight to her sisters.

"They twinkle, twinkle like little stars, only they don't shine," cried Prudy.

"Why," said Susy, "it's just as if her cheeks were made of water, and we were skipping pebbles in 'em."

And because of these tiny whirl pools, the child was usually called Dotty Dimple. From the time she could stand on her own little feet, she was a queen of a baby, and carried her small head very high. If she chanced to fall over a chair she seldom shed a tear, but thought the chair had treated her shamefully, and ought to be shut up in the closet. She never liked to have any one kiss her little bruises and pity her. It gave great offence if any one said, "Poor Alice!" She seemed to grow half a head taller in a minute, and looked as if she would say, "Needn't make a baby o' me!"

Not that she really said so. Talking was a thing she did not often attempt, though she sang a great deal, with a voice as clear as a flute. Prudy mourned because her tongue "did not grow fast enough." But where was the need of speech? If she fancied she would like to be tossed to the "sky of the room," she had only to pat her father's arm, and point upward, and the next minute she was flying to the ceiling, in high glee, and catching her breath. If she wished to go walking, it was enough to point to the door, and then to her hat. Her little forefinger was as good as most people's tongues, and served as a tolerably good guide-post, for it pointed the way she meant to go herself, and the way she wished others to go.

One day, while Mrs. Parlin was making currant jelly, she allowed Prudy to stay in the kitchen, and see her strain the beautiful crimson juice. But as for Alice, she had been found pounding eggs in a mortar, and must be taken away. She was placed in care of Susy, who led her out upon the piazza, where she could watch the people passing by. "Pedadder!" cried Alice, showing her dimples. "Yes, piazza; so it is," said careless Susy, beginning to read a fairy story, and soon forgetting her quiet little charge.

Looking up at last, there was nothing to be seen of Alice. She could not have entered the house, for the front-door knob was above her reach.

Susy ran out upon the pavement, and looked up and down the street. Which way to go she could not tell, but started down street at full speed. "O, I'm sure I ought to be going up street," gasped she; "and if I was, I shouldn't think that was right either. Wish I knew which way I should expect Dotty to go, and then I'd know she'd gone just the other way."

After flitting hither and thither for some time, Susy ran home to give the alarm. Without stopping to remove the jelly from the stove, Mrs. Parlin, Norah, and Prudy ran out of doors, and taking different directions, started in search of the missing child.

On High Street Prudy met a soap-man, just reentering his wagon at some one's door.

"O, have you seen my little sister?" cried Prudy, pressing her hand against her heart.

"Your little sister? And who may that be?" said the soap-man, in a deep whisper; for he had such a severe cold on his lungs that for six months he had not spoken a loud word.

"O, her name is Alice Wheelbarrow Parlin, sir," whispered Prudy, in reply; "and she had on a pink dress, and her hair curls down her neck, and she has the brightest eyes, and two years and a half of age, sir. O, where do you s'pose she's gone to?"

In her concern for Dotty, Prudy had forgotten her usual fear of strangers.

"I'm sorry you've lost your sister," whispered the soap-man; "but as you seem to be pretty well tired out, suppose you jump into my cart and ride with me."

Prudy wondered why the man still kept whispering, but presumed there was some reason why the loss of Dotty aught to be kept secret. She looked at the long lumber-wagon, partly filled with barrels, and was on the point of replying, "No, thank you, sir," when a bright idea occurred to her.

"Do you s'pose, sir, I can get to my sister any quicker if I ride?"

"Well, can't say as to that, my dear," whispered the soap-man, shoving a barrel to one side, "seeing as I don't know where your sister's to be found; but there's one thing certain-you'll get over the ground a good deal quicker riding than you would on your feet. I'm going to Pearl Street before I stop."

"Then I'll ride, sir, if you'll please lift me in," whispered poor Prudy, trembling with fear of the uncouth wagon and strange man, yet resolved to risk anything for Dotty's sake.

There was no seat in the wagon, and Prudy was obliged to stand up.

"Hold on to me, sissy," said the kind-hearted soap-boiler. "I reckon you ain't used to riding in this kind of shape. Why, lawful sakes, your face is as white as a pond-lily!"

"It's my heart," whispered Prudy, faintly; "it whisks just like the eggs Norah beats in a bowl. But it's no matter, sir; I don't think I'm afraid,-or only a little speck," added she, in a lower whisper; for, though anxious to be polite, she did not mean to tell anything but the "white truth."

The little girl's gentle ways won the soap-boiler's heart at once. "What's your fathers name, little dear?" inquired he, as they went clattering through the streets.

"His name is Mr. Edward Parlin.-But O, I don't see a single thing of Dotty!"

"Dotty! Why, who is Dotty?" asked the man, turning about, and gazing at his little passenger with a look of curiosity.

"Why, Mr.-, why, sir, don't you know?" replied the child, struck with a sudden fear that her strange companion was a crazy man. "O, my stars! don't you know what you took me up for? Didn't you hear? My little sister ran off the piazza." Then Prudy repeated the words aloud, slowly and on a high key, anxious this time to make her meaning very clear. "She-ran-off-the-piazza, with a pink dress on, sir, and not a speck-of-a-hat. And I was stirring jelly on the stove, and never knew it till she was lost and gone. And we're all hunting,-me, and-mother, and-all. I thought you knew, sir; but if you didn't I guess I'd better get out!"

The good-natured soap-man shook with laughter. "Excuse me, little miss," said he, "but the fact is, I understood you to say your sister's name was Alice Wheelbarrow Parlin, and that's why I was puzzled to know who you meant by Dotty.-But here we are at Pearl Street. Here, in this house, lives one of my best customers. Now, if you like, I'll lift you out, and you can go with me and inquire for your little sister. Then you can ride again, for I'm going as far as Munjoy."

So saying, the man took Prudy out in his arms. She knew it was rather odd for a little girl like her to be going around to people's back doors with a stranger in a blue blouse; but it was all for Dotty's sake.

The man knocked with the handle of his whip, and a neat-looking servant girl appeared.

"Have you seen anything of a stray child?" was his first question.

"My little sister," cried Prudy, in breathless haste. "She had on a pink dress, and curls bareheaded."

"We have seen no such child pass this way," replied the girl, civilly. Prudy's eager face fell.

"I supposed likely as not you hadn't," said the soap-man; "so now we'll proceed to business. You see I'm here with my wagon and barrels, and I suppose you perceive that I've come for your bones!"

These whispered words fell on Prudy's ears with terrible force. A vague terror seized her. "I've come for your bones!" What could he mean? Was he an ogre, right out of a fairy-book? What did he want of that poor woman's bones?

Without stopping to think twice, Prudy ran off with trembling haste, and by the time the astonished soap-boiler missed her she had reached Congress Street, and was still running.

The first thing she saw, as she entered her own door, was the fluttering of Dotty's pink dress. The runaway was safe and sound. She had only toddled off after a man with a basket of images, calling out, "baa, baa," "moo, moo," "bow-wow." The end of it was, that the image man had given her a toy lamb, for which she had said, "How do," instead of thank you; and Florence Eastman had led her home.

Susy was heartily ashamed of her heedlessness.

"Now, mother," said she, "do you think, if I should be kept on bread and water for a whole day, I should learn to remember? You'll never trust Dotty with me again."

"Ah," said Mrs. Parlin, with a meaning smile; "the trouble is, Susy, you've made up your mind that your memory is good for nothing: you expect to forget! I shall trust you again, and you must fully resolve to do better."

Dotty was very proud of her "baa, baa," and insisted upon putting it in her bathing tub every morning, and scrubbing it with her own hands.

Everybody laughed at Prudy's wild story of the soap-boiler.

"We were tired, my feet and I," said she, between laughing and crying; "but I never'd have rode with that whispering man if I'd known he was a bone man!"

* * *

By the time Alice Parlin was three years old she could prattle like a bobolink, and thought herself quite as old and wise as either of her sisters. Every Sunday morning it made her very wretched to see Susy and Prudy set out, with bright faces, for Sabbath school!

"Mayn't me go, too?" said she, plaintively. "Me's got the coop; must go to Sabber school!"

"O," replied Prudy, snatching a kiss from her pouting lips, "if you've got the croup you certainly can't go."

Dotty shook her curls. "Coop's went off now. Dotty'll go, all o' you."

"O, no, little sister; you'll stay at home and look at your pictures. That's the way I did when I was little."

"You mustn't contraspute," cried Dotty, shaking her elbows. "I is goin' to Sabber school." Then suddenly showing her dimples, she added with a bright smile, "'Cause I's your comfort, you know, Prudy, your darlin', precious little comfort; isn't I, Prudy?"

"Dear me," thought tender Prudy, "the poor little thing always has to stay at home. I'll ask mother to let her go with me next time. It is right for me to ask, for I'm sure I don't want her to go; so it isn't selfish!"

Mrs. Parlin had a great many doubts as to Dotty's good behavior, but at last consented. She felt pretty safe to trust her with Prudy, who was very patient, and had even now a memory longer than Susy's.

Before the time came to start for Sabbath school, Dotty stood a long while before the mirror, looking up at her gay hat and down at her cunning gaiters. She liked nice clothes, and it pleased her to see herself so prettily dressed.

"Is that you, O you darlin' Dotty?" said she, nodding her vain little head, and smiling till her dimples "twinkled." "Well, good by, Dotty; I's goin' to Sabber school."

"O, hurry, hurry!" cried Susy; "we'll surely be late."

They stepped out upon the pavement, Dotty walking between her sisters.

"We can't hurry, you know," said Prudy, "because Dotty's feet are so little."

"I never should have thought of bringing her," exclaimed Susy. "Any one would think she'd been eating snails. When she takes up her foot she shakes it before she puts it down."

"O, what a 'tory!" said Dotty Dimple, tossing her head. "I never shaked my foot; did I, Prudy?"

But Prudy had suddenly turned about, and gone back to the house, saying she had forgotten something. She had left home without kissing her mother good by, and nothing could console Prudy for the loss of one of her mother's caresses.

"There, girls, I'm back again," said she, catching her breath. "Now, Dotty, let's we see how fast we can walk."

"Drefful dirty," said Dotty, scowling at her overshoes.

"Yes," replied Susy, "this snow has been round on the ground a good while. It's most time it went back to heaven to get clean."

"What do you mean by snow's going to heaven?" said Prudy, gazing at the street, which was half white and half black.

"Why, you see," answered Susy, "it says, 'God scattereth the snow like wool, and his hoar-frost like the shining pearls.' And my Sabbath school teacher tells us that after a while the sun draws it back, and makes clouds of it, as 'twas before. So, you see, the snow and the rain keep sprinkling down, and then rising up to the sky again."

"Why-ee!" said Prudy; "how does the snow go up? I never saw it going."

"Indeed you have, Prudy. It goes puffing up in fog. Why, it's just as if the snow was a teakettle, and it keeps steaming out clouds."

"O, does it, Susy? Now, when it fogs, I shall know the snow's going up."

"Please don't talk any more," returned Susy, suddenly lowering her voice; "we must be very quiet on the street, for it's Sunday. You don't mean any harm, Prudy, but you say so much that I'm afraid I shall forget my lesson. I keep saying it over to myself, you know."

Susy and Prudy belonged in different classes. Susy recited from a question book, and Prudy learned verses from the Bible. Dotty Dimple went with Prudy into Miss Carlisle's class, where eight or ten little girls were already seated.

"It's my little sister, Miss Carlisle," whispered blushing Prudy. "Mother allowed her to come to-day because she isn't coming any more. Will you please excuse her?"

Smiling, Miss Carlisle was very willing to "excuse" Dotty for her sweet sister's sake. But Prudy felt rather nervous. She made a place beside herself for Dotty, who folded her small hands and sat as still as a marble cherub; but what odd thing she might take it into her busy brain to do, no one could tell.

When Prudy's turn came she repeated her verse: "Set a watch, O Lord, before my mouth: keep the door of my lips."

"An excellent text," said Miss Carlisle. "It would make me very happy if I thought you would remember it all your life, darling. Do you think you understand it?"

"Mother says it means, 'Be careful to say only what is true and good,'" replied Prudy, in a low voice.

"That is right," said Miss Carlisle; "but do you understand what is called the 'figure of speech' in the verse? Do you know what a watch is?"

"A little thing that ticks."

"There is another kind, my dear. We have in cities watchmen, to guard us and see that all goes right while we sleep."

"O, I know," replied Prudy, quickly; "the verse asks God to give us a conscience to walk back and forth before our lips while we talk!"

Miss Carlisle went on to say more about the watch, while Dotty fixed her bright eyes on her face, thinking, "What booful flowers those is in her bonnet! Where did she pick 'em?"

The next verse was Sadie Bicknell's:-

"Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path."

Dotty listened to this, and Miss Carlisle's remarks upon it, with the most solemn earnestness, hoping to learn why it was that people should sit with a lamp shining on their feet. She thought she could now see why Prudy loved to go to "Sabber school;" it was because she heard so many funny things.

Soon all the little girls had repeated their texts; but, to her great surprise, Dotty had not been called upon to say or do a single thing. It was a marked slight. She hardly knew whether to be angry or not. "I guess the lady didn't see me," thought Dotty. So she cleared her throat with a loud noise, which echoed across the room. Then Miss Carlisle looked at her and smiled. She was off the seat, standing on her tiptoes, Prudy tried to draw her back; but so much the more Dotty persisted. She shook off her sister's hand.

"I wasn't a 'peakin' to you," said she.

"Never mind her, Prudy," said Miss Carlisle, for the poor girl was crimson with shame; "let your little sister come to me; perhaps she wishes to tell me something."

Miss Carlisle bent forward, and let Dotty place her rosy lips close to her face.

"Now, what do you wish, little one?"

"You didn't hear me say my werse," whispered Dotty, in a tone of pique.

"Your verse? Did you learn one, child?"

"Yes, 'm, I did. I learned it all day yes'day."

"O, very well! then say it, by all means, dear."

Prudy's face expressed perfect despair. She tried to hush Dotty; but one might as well coax the wind to stop blowing. The child's thoughts had been like caged birds, and now out they must fly.

"Shall I whisper?" asked Dotty.

"No, say your verse aloud."

The child planted herself in front of the class, and recited, in a high key, and with the greatest delight,-

"What you thpose um had for supper?

B'ack-eyed beans, un bread un butter."

It was not possible to help smiling. Prudy in spite of her shame and distress, shook with laughter; but it was a laughter just ready to tremble into tears.

"I'll never ask mother to let her come again, if I once do get her safe home," thought outraged Prudy.

Dotty was not allowed to attend Sabbath school again that year; but it was a long time before she forgot some of the things she had heard Miss Carlisle say. Many of the strange words rang in her ears for weeks after wards, though she said nothing about them.

One day she rushed into the nursery out of breath. Prudy was kneeling before her little trunk, putting in order the paper dolls, which Dotty had scattered over the floor. They were a sad sight. Some of them had lost their heads, and some had lost their fine clothes, which are worth as much as heads any day-to dolls.

But Dotty did not stop to look at the mischief she had made. Her thoughts were of other matters. She had brought from the kitchen a "Tom Thumb lamp" and a bunch of matches.

Without a word she seated herself on the floor, behind her sister, and drew off her shoes and stockings. She looked for a moment at her little pink toes, then rubbed the whole bunch of matches on the carpet, saying to herself, "A lamp to my feet."

But, somehow, the lamp would not light itself. Dotty did not know how to turn back the chimney, and, though there was certainly blaze enough in the matches, it did not catch the wick. It leaped forward and caught the skirt of Prudy's dress.

"You're burnin' afire! You're burnin' afire!" shouted Dotty, dancing around her sister. Prudy now felt the heat, and screamed too, bringing her mother and Norah to the spot at once. The flames were soon smothered in a rug, and so Prudy's life was mercifully saved.

It was sometime before any one understood what Dotty had been trying to do with a light.

"I was just only a-puttin' a lamp to my feet," sobbed she. "I learned it to Sabber school."

But the little one's rare tears were soon dried by a romp with Zip out of doors.

"It's queer how things always happen just right," said Prudy, still trembling from her fright. "You said, if I'd been wearing my calico, mother, I'd have been scorched. And you know it was only the littlest while ago I put on this blue delaine, to go to auntie's in!"

* * *