Little Prudy's Sister Susy Part 10

This was a little neighbor, who, as the children sometimes privately declared, was "always 'round." Mrs. Parlin had her own private doubts about the advantages to be derived from her friendship, and had sometimes gone so far as to send her home, when she seemed more than usually in the way.

Annie's mother lived next door, but all Mrs. Parlin knew of her, was what she could see and hear from her own windows; and that little was not very agreeable. She saw that Mrs. Love joy dressed in gaudy colors, and loaded herself with jewelry; and she could hear her scold her servants and children with a loud, shrill voice.

The two ladies had never exchanged calls; but Annie, it seemed, had few playmates, and she clung to Susy with such a show of affection, that Mrs.

Parlin could not forbid her visits, although she watched her closely; anxious, as a careful mother should be, to make sure she was a proper companion for her little daughter. So far she had never known her to say or do anything morally wrong, though her manners were not exactly those of a well-bred little girl.

This afternoon, when the new game was broken up by the entrance of Annie, the children began the play of housekeeping, because Prudy could join in it. Susy found she enjoyed any amus.e.m.e.nt much more when it pleased the little invalid.

"I will be the lady of the house," said Annie, promptly, "because I have rings on my fingers, and a coral necklace. My name is Mrs. Piper.

Prudy,--no, Rosy,--you shall be Mrs. Shotwell, come a-visiting me; because you can't do anything else. We'll make believe you've lost your husband in the wars. I know a Mrs. Shotwell, and she is always _taking-on_, and saying, 'My poor dear husband,' under her handkerchief; just this way."

The children laughed at the nasal tw.a.n.g which Annie gave to the words, and Prudy imitated it to perfection, not knowing it was wrong.

"Well, what shall I be?" said Susy, not very well pleased that the first characters had been taken already.

"O, you shall be a hired girl, and wear a handkerchief on your head, just as our girl does; and you must be a little deaf, and keep saying, 'What, ma'am?' when I speak to you."

"And I," said Florence, "will be Mr. Peter Piper, the head of the family."

"Yes," returned Annie, "you can put on a waterproof cloak, and you will make quite a good-looking husband; but I shall be the head of the family myself, and have things about as I please!"

"Well, there," cried Flossy, slipping her arms into the sleeves of her cloak, "I don't know about that; I don't think it's very polite for you to treat your husband in that way."

Flossy wanted to have the control of family matters herself.

"But I believe in 'Woman's Rights,'" said Annie, with a toss of the head, "and if there's anything I despise, it is a _man_ meddling about the house."

Here little Dotty began to cause a disturbance, by sticking a fruit-knife into the edges of the "what-not," and making a whirring noise.

"I wouldn't do so, Dotty," said Susy, going up to her; "it troubles us; and, besides, I'm afraid it will break the knife."

"I don't allow my hired girl to interfere with my children," said Annie, speaking up in the character of Mrs. Piper; "I am mistress of the house, I'd have you to know! There, little daughter, they shan't plague her; she shall keep on doing mischief; so she shall!"

Dotty needed no coaxing to keep on doing mischief, but hit the musical knife harder than ever, giving it a dizzy motion, like the clapper in a mill.

Prudy was quite annoyed by the sound, but did not really know whether to be nervous or not, and concluded to express her vexation in groans: the groans she was giving in memory of the departed Mr. Shotwell, who had died of a "cannon bullet."

"My good Mrs. Shotwell," said Mrs. Piper, trying to "make conversation," "I think I have got something in my eye: will you please tell me how it looks?"

"O," said Prudy, peeping into it, "your eye looks very well, ma'am; don't you '_xcuse_ it; it looks well enough for _me_."

"Ahem!" said Mrs. Piper, laughing, and settling her head-dress, which was Susy's red scarf: "are your feet warm, Mrs. Shotwell?"

"Thank you, ma'am," replied Prudy, "I don't feel 'em cold. O, dear, if your husband was all deaded up, I guess you'd cry, Mrs. Piper."

Susy and Flossy looked at each other, and smiled. They thought Prudy seemed more like herself than they had known her for a long time.

"You must go right out of the parlor, Betsey," said Mrs. Piper, flourishing the poker; "I mean you, Susy--the parlor isn't any place for hired girls."

"Ma'am?" said Susy, inclining her head to one side, in order to hear better.

"O, dear! the plague of having a deaf girl!" moaned Mrs. Piper. "You don't know how trying it is, Mrs. Shotwell! That hired girl, Betsey, hears with her elbows, Mrs. Shotwell; I verily believe she does!"

"O, no, ma'am," replied Prudy; "I guess she doesn't hear with her elbows, does she? If she _heard_ with her elbows, she wouldn't have to ask you over again!"

This queer little speech set Mr. Piper and his wife, and their servant, all to laughing, and Betsey looked at her elbows, to see if they were in the right place.

"Will you please, ma'am," said Prudy, "ask Betsey to _hot_ a flatiron?

I've cried my handkerchief all up!"

"Yes; go right out, Betsey, and _hot_ a flatiron," said Mrs. Piper, very hospitably. "Go out, this instant, and build a fire, Betsey."

"Yes, go right out, Betsey," echoed Mr. Piper, who could find nothing better to do than to repeat his wife's words; for, in spite of himself, she did appear to be the "head of the family."

"It was my darlin' husband's handkerchief," sobbed Prudy.

"Rather a small one for a man," said Mr. Piper, laughing.

"Well," replied Prudy, rather quick for a thought, "my husband had a very small nose!"

Mrs. Piper tried to make more "conversation."

"O, Mrs. Shotwell, you ought to be exceeding thankful you're a widow, and don't keep house! I think my hired girls will carry down my gray hairs to the grave! The last one I had was Irish, and very Catholic."

Prudy groaned for sympathy, and wiped her eyes on that corner of her handkerchief which was supposed to be not quite "cried up."

"Yes, indeed, it was awful," continued Mrs. Piper; "for she was always going to ma.s.ses and ma.s.s-meetings; and there couldn't anybody die but they must be 'waked,' you know."

"Why, I didn't know they could be waked up when they was dead," said Prudy, opening her eyes.

"O, but they only _make believe_ you can wake 'em," said Mrs. Piper; "of course it isn't true! For my part, I don't believe a word an Irish girl says, any way."

"Hush, my child," she continued, turning to Dotty, who was now sharpening the silver knife on the edges of the iron grate. "Betsey, why in the world don't you see to that baby? I believe you are losing your mind!"

"That makes me think," said Prudy, suddenly breaking in with a new idea; "what do you s'pose the reason is folks can't be waked up? What makes 'em stay in heaven all the days, and nights, and years, and never come down here to see anybody, not a minute?"

"What an idea!" said Annie. "I'm sure I don't know."

"Well, I've been a thinkin'," said Prudy, answering her own question, "that when G.o.d has sended 'em up to the sky, they like to stay up there the best. It's a nicer place, a great deal nicer place, up to G.o.d's house."

"O, yes, of course," replied Annie, "but our play--"

"I've been a thinkin'," continued Prudy, "that when I go up to G.o.d's house, I shan't wear the splint. I can run all over the house, and he'll be willing I should go up stairs, and down cellar, you know."

Prudy sighed. Sometimes she almost longed for "G.o.d's house."

"Well, let's go on with our play," said Annie, impatiently. "It's most supper-time, Mrs. Shotwell. Come in, Betsey."