Part 1 (1/2)

Little Prudy.

by Sophie May.

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.

G.o.d 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!_

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, p.r.i.c.ked her fingers, and made a great fuss; sometimes crying, and wis.h.i.+ng 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 st.i.tch, 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 p.r.i.c.ked 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!”