en
eyes--were shining with curiosity.

"There, now, what is it, Gracie? what is it you don't want me to
hear?"

Grace laughed. "Oh, nothing much, dear: never mind."

"You oughtn't to say 'Never mind,'" pursued Prudy: "my mother tells me
_always_ to mind."

"I only mean it isn't any matter, Prudy."

"Oh! do you? Then don't you care for my skeeter-bites? You always say,
'Never mind!' I didn't know it wasn't _any matter_."

"Now, ma," Grace went on, "I want to ask you where are those
I-don't-know-what-to-call-'ems? And may I copy them, Cassy and I, into
a book, for a certain afflicted relative?"

"Yes, yes, on gold-edged paper!" cried Prudy, springing up from the
sofa; "oh, do, do; I'll love you dearly if you will! Fairy stories are
just as nice! What little Harvey Sherwood likes, _I_ like, and I've
had the measles; _but_ I shouldn't think his father and mother'd wear
their hat and bonnet to the dinner-table!"

"Deary me!" laughed Grace; "how happened that little thing to mistrust
what I meant?"

"It would be strange if a child of her age, of ordinary abilities,
should _not_ understand," remarked Mrs. Clifford, somewhat amused.
"Next time you wish to ask me any thing confidentially, I advise you
to choose a better opportunity."

"When may she, Aunt 'Ria?" cried Prudy, entirely forgetting her
troubles; "when may she write it, Aunt 'Ria, she and Cassy?"

"A pretty piece of folly it would be, wouldn't it, dear, when you
can't read a word of writing?"

"But Susy can a little, auntie; and mother can a great deal: and I'll
never tease 'em, only nights when I go to bed, and days when I don't
feel well. Please, Aunt 'Ria."

"Yes, ma, I know you can't refuse," said Grace.

Mrs. Clifford hesitated. "The stories are yellow with age, Grace;
they were written in my girlhood: and they are rather torn and
disarranged, if I remember. Besides, my child, my flowing hand is
difficult to read."

"Oh, mamma, I think you write beautifully! splendidly!"

"Another objection," continued Mrs. Clifford: "they are rather too old
for Prudy, I should judge."

"But I keep a-growing, Aunt 'Ria! Don't you s'pose I know what fairy
stories mean? They don't mean any thing! You didn't feel afraid I'd
believe 'em, did you? I wouldn't believe 'em, I _promise_ I wouldn't;
just as true's I'm walking on this floor!"

"Indeed, I hope you would not, little Prudy; for I made them up as I
went along. There are no fairies but those we have in o