"O, Prudy!" said she, when they two were alone in the parlor, looking
over a book of engravings, "I'm going to tell you something; 'twill
make you scream right out loud, and your hair stick up!"

[Illustration: "I'M GOING TO TELL YOU SOMETHING." Page 34.]

"Don't," laughed Prudy, "I've just brushed my hair."

"Once there was a girl, Prudy, lived in this state; and mother thinks
she was just like me. But she wasn't, truly. She was homely; and her
hair was black; and her mother was dead. The woman spatted her with a
stick where she lived. And she didn't love the baby any at all, 'cause
he had nicer things, you know; and I guess white sugar and verserves. So
she stuck a _spine_ into him--only think! In his crib! So he never
walked ever again! And his father and mother were gone away, and told
her to give him baked apples and milk--with bread in!"

"Why, that can't be true, Dotty Parlin!"

"Yes, _indeed_! Certain true, black and blue. Guess my mother knows!"

"What!" said Prudy, "just for baked apples and milk?"

"Yes. Her name was Harriet."

"What did you say she did it with, Dotty?"

"Mamma said a _spine_. They took her to the court-house; but they didn't
hang her, 'cause she--I've forgot what--but they didn't. They made her
marry a black man--that's all I know!"

"Well, there, how queer!" said Prudy, drawing a long breath. "If I was
Harriet I'd rather have been hung. Was he all black?"

"Yes, solid black. But I s'pose she didn't want to choke to death any
more'n you do."

"Dotty," said Prudy, with a meaning in her tone, "what do you suppose
made mamma tell you that story?"

"I don't know."

Dotty looked deeply dejected.

"Little sister," continued Prudy, taking advantage of the child's
softened mood, "don't you wish you didn't let yourself be so angry?"

"Yes, I do, so there!" was the quick and earnest reply.

Prudy was astonished. It was the first time this proud sister had ever
acknowledged herself wrong.

"Then, Dotty, what if you try to be good, and see how 'twill seem?"

"Won't you tell anybody, Prudy?"

"No, never."

"Well, I _will_ be good! I can swallow it down if I want to."

Observe what faith the child had in herself!

Prudy clapped her hands.

"There, don't you talk any more," added Miss Dimple, with a sudden sense
of shame, and a desire to conceal her emotions. "Let's make pictures on
the slate."

Prudy was ready for anything; her heart was very light. She was too wise
to remi