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<h4>Little Prudy Stories</h4> <hr style="width: 45%;" /> <h1>LITTLE PRUDY</h1>       <h3>BY</h3> <h2>SOPHIE MAY</h2> <h4> Author of "Little Prudy Stories," "Dotty Dimple Stories," "Flaxie Frizzle Stories," "Little Prudy's Flyaway Series," "Little Prudy's Children Series," "Pauline Wyman," "Joy Bells," etc. </h4>     <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/seal.jpg" width-obs="150" height-obs="259" alt="Seal" /></div>     <h3>BOSTON</h3> <h2>LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.</h2>     Copyright, 1891, by Rebecca S. Clarke. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>DEDICATION</h2> <h3>TO THE LITTLE PUBLIC</h3> <h4>A Merry Christmas, dear Children</h4> 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. God 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 <h4>A HAPPY NEW YEAR!</h4> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>CONTENTS</h2> <table summary="Contents"> <tr><td class="tocch f6">CHAP.</td> <td></td> <td></td><td class="tocpg f6">PAGE</td></tr> <tr><td class="tocch">I.</td> <td> </td> <td>Prudy's Patchwork,</td> <td class="tocpg">5</td> </tr> <tr><td class="tocch">II.</td> <td> </td> <td>Prudy going up to Heaven,</td> <td class="tocpg">12</td> </tr> <tr><td class="tocch">III.</td> <td> </td> <td>Prudy's Knitting-Work,</td> <td class="tocpg">19</td> </tr> <tr><td class="tocch">IV.</td> <td> </td> <td>Prudy's Picnic,</td> <td class="tocpg">36</td> </tr> <tr><td class="tocch">V.</td> <td> </td> <td>Prudy in the Pines,</td> <td class="tocpg">47</td> </tr> <tr><td class="tocch">VI.</td> <td> </td> <td>Prudy Sick,</td> <td class="tocpg">57</td> </tr> <tr><td class="tocch">VII.</td> <td> </td> <td>Prudy's Present,</td> <td class="tocpg">67</td> </tr> <tr><td class="tocch">VIII.</td> <td> </td> <td>Prudy Fishing,</td> <td class="tocpg">78</td> </tr> <tr><td class="tocch">IX.</td> <td> </td> <td>The Hatchet Story,</td> <td class="tocpg">89</td> </tr> <tr><td class="tocch">X.</td> <td> </td> <td>More Stories,</td> <td class="tocpg">102</td> </tr> <tr><td class="tocch">XI.</td> <td> </td> <td>Prudy's White Tea,</td> <td class="tocpg">113</td> </tr> <tr><td class="tocch">XII.</td> <td> </td> <td>Prudy Trying to Help,</td> <td class="tocpg">129</td> </tr> <tr><td class="tocch">XIII.</td> <td> </td> <td>The Gypsy Supper,</td> <td class="tocpg">141</td> </tr> <tr><td class="tocch">XIV.</td> <td> </td> <td>The Angel-Baby,</td> <td class="tocpg">153</td> </tr> <tr><td class="tocch">XV.</td> <td> </td> <td>Going Home,</td> <td class="tocpg">166</td> </tr> </table> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>LITTLE PRUDY</h2> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>CHAPTER I</h2> <h2>PRUDY'S PATCHWORK</h2> 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, pricked her fingers, and made a great fuss; sometimes crying, and wishing 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 stitch, 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 pricked 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!" "What will mamma do with you? You haven't finished your stint—what made you get out of your chair?" "O, I thought grandma might want me to get her speckles. I thought I would go and find Zip too. See, mamma, he's so tickled to see me he shakes all over—every bit of him!" "Where's your patchwork?" "I don't know. You've got a double name, haven't you, doggie? It's Zip Coon, but it isn't a very double name,—is it, mother?" When Mrs. Parlin had finished her doughnuts, she said, "Pussy, you can't keep still two minutes. Now, if you want to sew this patchwork for grandma's quilt, I'll tell you what I shall do. There's an empty hogshead in the back kitchen, and I'll lift you into that, and you can't climb out. I'll lift you out when your stint is done." "O, what a funny little house," said Prudy, when she was inside; and as she spoke, her voice startled her—it was so loud and hollow. "I'll talk some more," thought she, "it makes such a queer noise.—'Old Mrs. Hogshead, I thought I'd come and see you, and bring my work. I like your house, ma'am, only I should think you'd want some windows. I s'pose you know who I am, Mrs. Hogshead? My name is Prudy. My mother didn't put me in here because I was a naughty girl, for I haven't done nothing—nor nothing—nor nothing. Do you want to hear some singing? <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> 'O, come, come away, From labor now reposin'; Let busy Caro, wife of Barrow, Come, come away!'" </div> </div> "Prudy, what's the matter?" said mamma, from the next room. "Didn't you hear somebody singing?" said Prudy; "well, 'twas me." "O, I was afraid you were crying, my dear." "Then I'll stop," said the child. "Now, Mrs. Hogshead, you won't hear me singing any more,—it mortifies my mother very much." So Prudy made her fingers fly, and soon said, "Now, mamma, I've got it done, and I'm ready to be took out!" Just then her father came into the house. "Prudy's in the hogshead," said Mrs. Parlin. "Won't you please lift her out, father? I've got baby in my arms." Mr. Parlin peeped into the hogshead. "How in this world did you ever get in here, child?" said he. "I think I'll have to take you out with a pair of tongs." Prudy laughed. "Give me your hands," said papa. "Up she comes! Now, come sit on my knee," added he, when they had gone into the parlor, "and tell me how you climbed into that hogshead." "Mother dropped me in, and I'm going to stay there till I make a bedquilt, only I'm coming out to eat, you know." Mr. Parlin laughed; but just then the dinner bell rang, and when they went to the table, Prudy was soon so busy with her roasted chicken and custard pie that she forgot all about the patchwork. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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