little weight on her left one, which did
not now, as formerly, drag, or, as she had said, "_more_ than touch the
floor." By and by she began to scramble about on the carpet on all
fours, partly creeping, partly pushing herself along.

It was surprising how much pleasure Prudy took in going back to these
ways of babyhood.

Faint blush roses began to bloom in her cheeks as soon as she could take
a little exercise and go out of doors. Her father bought a little
carriage just suitable for the pony, and in this she rode every morning,
her mother or Percy driving; for Mrs. Parlin thought it hardly safe to
trust Susy with such a precious encumbrance as this dear little sister.

She had been willing that Susy should manage Wings in a sleigh, but in a
carriage the case was quite different; for, though in a sleigh there
might be even more danger of overturning, there was not as much danger
of getting hurt. Indeed, Susy's sleigh had tipped over once or twice in
turning too sharp a corner, and Susy had fallen out, but had instantly
jumped up again, laughing.

She would have driven in her new carriage to Yarmouth and back again, or
perhaps to Bath, if she had been permitted. She was a reckless little
horsewoman, afraid of nothing, and for that very reason could not be
trusted alone.

But there was no difficulty in finding companions. Percy pretended to
study book-keeping, but was always ready for a ride. Flossy was not
steady enough to be trusted with the reins, but Ruth Turner was as
careful a driver as need be; though Susy laughed because she held the
reins in both hands, and looked so terrified.

She said it did no good to talk with Ruth when she was driving; she
never heard a word, for she was always watching to see if a carriage
was coming, and talking to herself, to make sure she remembered which
was her right hand, so she could "turn to the right, as the law
directs."

Prudy enjoyed the out-of-doors world once more, and felt like a bird let
out of a cage. And so did Susy, for she thought she had had a dull
season of it, and fully agreed with Prudy, who spoke of it as the "slow
winter."

But now it was the quick spring, the live spring. The brooks began to
gossip; the birds poured out their hearts in song, and the dumb trees
expressed their joy in leaves.

"The bobolink, on the mullein-stalk,
Would rattle away like a sweet girl's talk."

The frogs took severe colds, but gave concerts a little way out of t