Little Prudy's Sister Susy

  CHAPTER X.

  RUTHIE TURNER.

  "The darkest day, Wait till to-morrow, will have passed away."

  The next morning, Susy woke with a faint recollection that somethingunpleasant had occurred, though she could not at first remember what itwas.

  "But I didn't do anything wrong," was her second thought. "Now, after Isay my prayers, the next thing I'll feed--O, Dandy is dead!"

  "See here, Susy," said Percy, coming into the dining-room, just afterbreakfast; "did you ever see this cage before?"

  "Now, Percy! When you know I want it out of my sight!"

  Then, in the next breath, "Why, Percy Eastman, if here isn't yourbeautiful mocking-bird in the cage!"

  "Yes, Susy; and if you'll keep him, and be good to him, you'll do me agreat favor."

  It was a long while before Susy could be persuaded that this rare birdwas to be her "ownest own." It was a wonderfully gifted little creature.Susy could but own that he was just as good as a canary, only a greatdeal better. "The greater included the less." He had as sweet a voice,and a vast deal more compass. His powers of mimicry were very amusing topoor little Prudy, who was never tired of hearing him mew like a kitten,quack like a duck, or whistle like a schoolboy.

  Susy was still more delighted than Prudy. It was so comforting, too, toknow that she was doing Percy "a great favor," by accepting hisbeautiful present. She wondered in her own mind how he _could_ be tiredof such an interesting pet, and asked her to take it, just to get rid ofit!

  About this time, Mr. Parlin bought for Prudy a little armed-chair, whichrolled about the floor on wheels. This Prudy herself could propel withonly the outlay of a very little strength; but there were days when shedid not care to sit in it at all. Prudy seemed to grow worse. The doctorwas hopeful, very hopeful; but Mrs. Parlin was not.

  Prudy's dimpled hands had grown so thin, that you could trace thewinding path of every blue vein quite distinctly. Her eyes were largeand mournful, and seemed to be always asking for pity. She grew quietand patient--"painfully patient," her father said. Indeed, Mr. Parlin,as well as his wife, feared the little sufferer was ripening for heaven.

  "Mamma," said she, one day, "mamma, you never snip my fingers anynowadays do you? When I'm just as naughty, you never snip my fingers!"

  Mrs. Parlin turned her face away. There were tears in her eyes, and shedid not like to look at those little white fingers, which she was almostafraid would never have the natural, childish naughtiness in them anymore.

  "I think sick and patient little girls don't need punishing," said she,after a while. "Do you remember how you used to think I snipped yourhands to 'get the naughty out?' You thought the naughty was all in yourlittle hands!"

  "But it wasn't, mamma," said Prudy, slowly and solemnly. "I know whereit was: it was in my _heart_."

  "Who can take the naughty out of our hearts, dear? Do you ever think?"

  "Our Father in heaven. No one else can. _He_ knows how to snip ourhearts, and get the naughty out. Sometimes he sends the earache and thetoothache to Susy, and the--the--lameness to me. O, he has a great manyways of snipping!"

  Prudy was showing the angel-side of her nature now. Suffering was"making her perfect." She had a firm belief that God knew all about it,and that somehow or other it was "all right." Her mother took a greatdeal of pains to teach her this. She knew that no one can bearaffliction with real cheerfulness who does not trust in God.

  But there was now and then a bright day when Prudy felt quite buoyant,and wanted to play. Susy left everything then, and tried to amuse her.If this lameness was refining little Prudy, it was also making Susy morepatient. She could not look at her little sister's pale face, and not betouched with pity.

  One afternoon, Flossy Eastman and Ruthie Turner came to see Susy; and,as it was one of Prudy's best days, Mrs. Parlin said they might play inPrudy's sitting-room. Ruthie was what Susy called an "old-fashionedlittle girl." She lived with a widowed mother, and had no brothers andsisters, so that she appeared much older than she really was. She likedto talk with grown people upon wise subjects, as if she were at leasttwenty-five years old. Susy knew that this was not good manners, and shelonged to say so to Ruthie.

  Aunt Madge was in Prudy's sitting-room when Ruthie entered. Ruthie wentup to her and shook hands at once.

  "I suppose it is Susy's aunt Madge," said she. "I am delighted to seeyou, for Susy says you love little girls, and know lots of games."

  There was such a quiet composure in Ruth's manner, and she seemed tofeel so perfectly at home in addressing a young lady she had never seenbefore, that Miss Parlin was quite astonished, as well as a littleinclined to smile.

  Then Ruthie went on to talk about the war. Susy listened in mutedespair, for she did not know anything about politics. Aunt Madge lookedat Susy's face, and felt amused, for _Ruthie_ knew nothing aboutpolitics either: she was as ignorant as Susy. She had only heard hermother and other ladies talking together. Ruthie answered all thepurpose of a parrot hung up in a cage, for she caught and echoedeverything that was said, not having much idea what it meant.

  When aunt Madge heard Ruth laboring away at long sentences, with hardwords in them, she thought of little Dotty, as she had seen her, thatmorning, trying to tug Percy's huge dog up stairs in her arms.

  "It is too much for her," thought aunt Madge: "the dog got theupper-hand of Dotty, and I think the big words are more than a match forRuth."

  But Ruth did not seem to know it, for she persevered. She gravely askedaunt Madge if she approved of the "_Mancimation_ of _Proclapation_."Then she said she and her mamma were very much "_perplexed"_ when newscame of the last defeat. She would have said "_surprised_" only_surprised_ was an every-day word, and not up to standard of elegantEnglish.

  Ruth was not so very silly, after all. It was only when she tried totalk of matters too old for her that she made herself ridiculous. Shewas very quiet and industrious, and had knit several pairs of socks forthe soldiers.

  As soon as Miss Parlin could disentangle herself from her conversationwith Ruthie, she left the children to themselves.

  "Let's keep school," said Prudy. "I'll be teacher, if you want me to."

  "Very well," replied Susy, "we'll let her; won't we, girls? she is sucha darling."

  "Well," said Prudy, with a look of immense satisfaction, "please go,Susy, and ask grandma if I may have one of those shiny, whitehandkerchiefs she wears on her neck, and a cap, and play Quaker."

  Grandma was very glad that Prudy felt well enough to play Quaker, andlent her as much "costume" as she needed, as well as a pair ofspectacles without eyes, which the children often borrowed for theirplays, fancying that they added to the dignity of the wearer.

  When Prudy was fairly equipped, she was a droll little Quakeress,surely, and grandma had to be called up from the kitchen to behold herwith her own eyes. The little soft face, almost lost in the folds of theexpansive cap, was every bit as solemn as if she had been, as aunt Madgesaid, "a hundred years old, and very old for her age."

  She was really a sweet little likeness of grandma Read in miniature.

  "And their names are alike, too," said Susy: "grandma's name isPrudence, and so is Prudy's."

  "Used to be," said Prudy, gravely.

  "Rosy Frances" was now lifted most carefully into her little wheeledchair and no queen ever held a court with more dignity than she assumedas she smoothed into place the folds of her grandma's snowy kerchief,which she wore about her neck.

  "What shall we do first?" said Flossy and Susy.

  "Thee? thee?" Prudy considered "thee" the most important word of all."Why, _thee_ may behave; I mean, behave _thyselves_."

  The new teacher had not collected her ideas yet.

  "Let's get our books together," said Susy, "and then we'll all sit onthe sofa and study."

  "Me, me," chimed in Dotty Dimple, dropping the little carriage in whichshe was wheeling her kitty; "me, too!"

  "Well, if you must, you must; snuggle in here between Floss
y and me,"said Susy, who was determined that to-day everything should go onpleasantly.

  "Sixteenth class in joggerphy," said Miss Rosy Frances, peeping severelyover her spectacles. "Be spry quick!"

  The three pupils stood up in a row, holding their books close to theirfaces.

  "Thee may hold out your hands now, and I shall ferule thee--the wholeschool," was the stern remark of the young teacher, as she took off herspectacles to wipe the holes.

  "Why, we haven't been doing anything," said Ruthie, affecting to cry.

  "No, I know it; but thee'd _ought_ to have been doing something; thee'dought to have studied thy lessons."

  "But, teacher, we didn't have time," pleaded Flossy; "you called us outso quick! Won't you forgive us!"

  "Yes, I will," said Rosy Frances, gently; "I will, if thee'll speak up_'xtremely_ loud, and fix _thine_ eyes on thy teacher."

  The pupils replied, "Yes, ma'am," at the top of their voices.

  "Now," said Rosy Frances, appearing to read from the book, "where is theIsthmus of _Susy?_"

  The scholars all laughed, and answered at random. They did not know thattheir teacher was trying to say the "Isthmus of Suez."

  The next question took them by surprise:--

  "Is there any man in the moon?"

  "What a queer idea, Rosy," said Susy; "what made you ask that?"

  "'Cause I wanted to know," replied the Quaker damsel. "They said hecame down when the other man was eatin' porridge. I should think, if hewent back up there, and didn't have any wife and children, he'd be reallonesome!"

  This idea of Prudy's set the whole school to romancing, although it wasin the midst of a recitation. Flossy said if there was a man in themoon, he must be a giant, or he never could get round over themountains, which she had heard were very steep.

  Ruthie asked if there was anything said about his wife! Susy, who hadread considerable poetry was sure she had heard something of a woman upthere, named "Cynthia;" but she supposed it was all "moonshine," or"made up," as she expressed it. She said she meant to ask her auntMadge to write a fairy story about it.

  Here their progress in useful knowledge was cut short by thedisappearance of Dotty. Looking out of the window, they saw the littlerogue driving ducks with a broomstick. These ducks had a home not farfrom Mrs. Parlin's, and if Dotty Dimple had one temptation stronger thanall others, it was the sight of those waddling fowls, with their velvetheads, beads of eyes, and spotted feathers. When she saw them "marshin'along," she was instantly seized with a desire either to head thecompany or to march in the rear, and set them to quacking. She wasbareheaded, and Susy ran down stairs to bring her into the house; andthat was an end of the school for that day. Dotty Dimple was somethinglike the kettle of molasses which Norah was boiling, very sweet, butvery apt to _boil over_: she needed watching.

  When Norah's candy was brought up stairs, the little girls pronounced itexcellent.

  "O, dear," said Flossy, "I wish our girl was half as good as Norah! Idon't see why Electa and Norah ain't more alike when they are ownsisters!"

  "What dreadful girls your mother always has!" said Susy; "it's too bad?"

  "I know of a girl," said Prudy, "one you'd like ever'n, ever so much,Flossy; only you can't have her."

  "Why not?" said Flossy; "my mother would go hundreds of leagues to get agood girl. Why can't she have her?"

  "O, 'cause, she's _dead!_ It's Norah's cousin over to Ireland."

  They next played the little game of guessing "something in this room,"that begins with a certain letter. Ruthie puzzled them a long while onthe initial S. At last she said she meant "scrutau" (escritoire orscrutoire), pointing towards the article with her finger.

  "Why, that's a _writing-desk_," said Susy. "I don't see where you learnso many big worns, Ruthie."

  "O, I take notice, and remember them," replied Ruthie, looking quitepleased. She thought Susy was praising her.

  "Now let _me_ tell some letters," said Prudy.

  "L.R. She lives at your house, Flossy."

  Nobody could guess.

  "Why, I should think _that_ was easy enough," said Prudy: "it's thatgirl that lives there; she takes off the covers of your stove with aclothes-pin: it's 'Lecta Rosbornd.'"

  The little girls explained to Prudy that the true initials of ElectaOsborne would be E.O., instead of L.R. But Prudy did not know much aboutspelling. She _had_ known most of her letters; but it was some time ago,and they had nearly all slipped out of her head.

  She said, often, she wished she could "only, only read;" and Susyoffered to teach her, but Mrs. Parlin said it would never do till Prudyfelt stronger.

  I will tell you now why I think Susy did not understand her mother whenshe said Annie was not a suitable playmate. In the evening, after Ruthieand Flossy were gone, Susy said to her mother,--

  "I feel real cross with Ruthie, mamma: I think she puts herself forward.She goes into a room, and no matter how old the people are that aretalking, she speaks up, and says, 'O, yes, I know all about it.' I neversaw such an old-fashioned little girl."

  "Very well," said Mrs. Parlin; "if _she_ is rude, take care that thesame fault does not appear in yourself, Susy."

  "But, mother," said Susy, suddenly veering about and speaking in Ruth'sfavor, "I don't know but it's proper to do as Ruthy does. If you knowsomething, and other people don't, ain't it right to speak up and sayit?"

  "It is never right for little girls to _monopolize_ conversation, Susy;that is, to take the lead in it, and so prevent older people fromtalking. Neither is it proper to pretend to know more than we do, andtalk of things beyond our knowledge."

  "I knew you would say so, mother. I just asked to hear what you wouldsay. I know Ruthie is ill-mannered: do you think I ought to play withher any more?"

  Mrs. Parlin looked at Susy in surprise.

  "Why, you know, mother, you wouldn't let me play with Annie Lovejoy. Yousaid, 'evil communications corrupted good manners.'"

  "But can't you see any difference in the cases, Susy? What a muddylittle head you must wear on your shoulders!"

  "Not much of any," said Susy, trying to think; "they're both _bold_;that's what you don't like."

  "Anything else, Susy?"

  "O, yes, mother; Ruthie's good, and Annie isn't. It was queer for me toforget that!"

  "I should think it was, Susy, since it is the only thing of muchimportance, after all. Now, it seems to me you are very ready to castoff your friends when their manners offend you. How would you like it tobe treated in the same way? Suppose Mrs. Turner and Ruthie should betalking together this very minute. Ruthie says, 'That Susy Parlin keepsher drawers in a perfect tumble; she isn't orderly a bit. Susy Parlinnever knit a stitch for the soldiers in her life. Mother, mayn't I stopplaying with Susy Parlin?'"

  Susy laughed, and looked a little ashamed.

  "Well, mother," said she, twisting the corner of her handkerchief, "Iguess I can't say anything about Ruthie Turner; she's a great dealbetter girl than I am, any way."