DR. PRUDY.
The next day Dotty had a severe cold, and her mother, fearing the croup, did not allow her to go out of doors. This was hard for the child. She felt very restless, because she had to give up "housekeeping" with Prudy, a very fascinating game, which could only be played on the river-bank. She looked out of the kitchen window, and saw some carpenters shingling the barn.
"O, hum!" she murmured, "I wish grandpa wouldn't mend his barn!"
A white mist was creeping slowly over the river and the distant hills.
"There, now," she sighed, "I wish the earth wouldn't breave so hard!"
Then she went into the parlor, like a little gray cloud.
"O, dear; I don't like this house, 'cause it's got a top to it! Wish I was somewhere else!"
"Poor child," said Colonel Allen, who was seated on the sofa, looking out of the bay-window upon the garden; "do you love home better than this beautiful spot?"
"No," replied the little one, shaking her head. "I don't love my home, 'cause I live there; I don't love nothin'. O, hum, suz!"
Then Dotty wandered into the nursery, and stood all alone, leaning against the lounge.
"I shouldn't think my mother'd let me be so cross," mused she.
She did not cry, for she had learned very young that crying is of no use; and it may be, too, that she had only a small fountain of tears back of her eyes. Prudy, entering the nursery in eager haste, for her "bean-bags," was touched at sight of her sister's sad face.
"There, now, I'll put back my bean-bags, and try to make her happy," said Prudy to herself. "That will be following the Golden Rule; for it's doing unto Dotty as I want Susy to do unto me, when I'm sick."
She went quietly up to Dotty, who still stood leaning gloomily against the lounge. The child turned around with a sudden smile. It cheered her to see Prudy's sweet face, which was always sunny with a halo of happy thoughts.
"Are you real sick, though, Dotty Dimple?"
"Yes, I are," replied Dotty, well pleased to be asked such a question. "I got 'most drowned, you know. O, I wish you'd stayed out in the rain the other day, and got cold; then you'd have been sick, too."
Prudy smiled, for she knew that her little sister really had no such unkind wish at heart. She was only trying, with her limited stock of words, to say that she longed to have a little sympathy. It was not often that Dotty was willing to be pitied.
"See here, Prudy darling, don't you want a piece of my cough-candy? It's good! You may bite clear down to there, where I've scratched with a pin."
"No, thank you, dear, I don't care a bit for it."
Dotty's face beamed with joyous dimples. It was so pleasant to be generous, and at the same time keep the candy! In her short life Dotty Dimple had not quite learned that "the half is better than the whole."
"Now," said Prudy, after thinking a while, "suppose we play that you're sick,—as you are, you know,—and I'm the doctor."
Dotty gave a little scream of delight.
"You may see my tongue," said she, running to the looking-glass; "it's real rusty. Can't you scrape it with a knife, Brady?"
"You must say doctor, when you speak to me. Now, my dear patient, it's best for you to lie on the lounge, and take medicine in the chest. Poor young lady, we shall be so glad when you get your health all well!—Do you want me to extricate a tooth? Have you any headache, miss?"
Prudy's voice was low and sympathetic. "Yes, Dr. Prudy," replied the patient, with a stifled groan; "I've truly got the ache in my head; it pricks through my hair." "I'll tell you the cause of that, my dear patient; I suspect your pillow's made of pin-feathers. Let me feel your pulse on the back of your hand—your wrist, I mean. Terrible," moaned the young doctor, gazing mournfully at the ceiling; "it's stopped beating. Can't expect your life now. O, no!"
"Now you must put your hands behind you, and walk across the room," suggested Dotty; "that's the way."
"If my memory preserves me right," continued the young doctor, pacing the floor, "you've got the—ahem!—pluribus unum." Here Dr. Prudy ran her fingers through her hair. "But it goes light this year—with care, ma'am, you know. So I'll go and stir you up some pills in my marble mortar."
"O, dear me, doctor; don't you now! Bring me some lemonade and nuts, for I'm drefful sick; but don't bring me no pills nor molters!"
"Poh, only brown bread, Dotty! what do you suppose?"
Upon the whole, Miss Dimple, being petted to her heart's content, had quite a comfortable day of it.
In the evening she asked,—
"Mightn't I eat supper, all alone, in the parlor? Once, when I had the sores all wrinkled out on my face, on my chin and round my eyes, all round, then I ate in the parlor."
Prudy, with her grandmother's consent, carried in a pretty salver, on which were a little Wedgewood teapot with hot water, a tiny sugar-bowl and creamer, a plate, and cup and saucer, some slices of toast, and a glass of jelly.
"Thank you a whole heart-full," said Dotty, springing off the sofa; "that little waiter and so forth is real big enough for me."
Dotty thought "and so forth" meant "cups and saucers." She had heard Norah tell Prudy, when she wished to set the table, that she might put on "the knives and forks, and so forth," and Dotty had noticed that it was always cups and saucers after the knives and forks.
"But, Dr. Prudy, there's one thing you've forgot," said the young patient; "a little tea-bell, so I can tingle it, and call you in."
The bell was brought, and while the rest of the family ate in the dining-room, Dotty took her "white tea" in the parlor, in queenly state.
Prudy had eaten half a thin slice of toast, when the long and sharp ringing of the tea-bell summoned her into the parlor.
"And what would you like, Miss Dimple?" said the remarkably obliging doctor, with a low bow.
"More jelly," replied the patient, holding up the empty glass, "and some squince marmalade."
After obeying this request, Prudy went back to her supper, and had just finished her slice of bread, when the bell struck again.
This time there was "that old spin-wheel in the chimney again,"—so the patient said,—and a book in the what-not wrong side up, looking "as if it would choke."
The book was set right; but the noise in the chimney was too much for the doctor's skill, since neither she nor any one else knew its cause.
Next sounded a furious peal of the bell, and a series of loud screams from the little sick girl. She had been dreadfully stung by a bee, which had buzzed its way out from the fireboard. Strange to tell, there was a swarm of bees in the chimney, instead of "a spin-wheel."
Abner at once mounted to the roof of the house, and peeped into the chimney. A nice, cosy beehive it made, filled to the throat with waxen cells.
Dotty bore her sufferings sweetly, being sustained by the promise of a large box of honey, by and by.
"Bees have a 'sweet, sweet home,' I think," said Susy.
"So do ants when they get in the sugar-box," rejoined Prudy.
As night approached, Dotty showed symptoms of croup.
"I think," said her grandmother, "it will be the safest way to give her some castor-oil and molasses; that is what her father used to take when he was a little boy."
Dotty pouted. "Dirty, slippy castor-oil," she cried, shaking her elbows—a thing she seldom did now. "I shan't let it go in my throat. I'll bite my teeth togedder tight."
"Alice," said her grandmother, "is that the proper way to speak to me?"
The child's face cleared in a moment.
"I wasn't a-speakin' to you, grandma," said she, sweetly; "I was a talkin' to the dust-pan."
"O, Dotty Parlin!" cried Prudy, much distressed. "Nobody ever talked to the dust-pan, in all the days of their lives! I always thought you were a good girl, Dotty, but now I am afraid you tell false fibs!"
Dotty clung about Prudy like a sweet pea, and peeped into her eyes with a pleading look.
"Say, do you love me, Prudy? For I'm goin' to let the oil slip right down my throat, just as my papa did when he was a little boy."
After swallowing the oil and molasses, Dotty grew very affectionate, and kissed everybody twice, all around. Then she said her prayers, and went to bed.
"Mamma," said she, "now smoove me up under my chin, please." She loved to have the sheet laid straight. "Do you s'pose God will take care o' me to-night, mamma?"
"Certainly, my darling; you may be very sure He will. Your heavenly Father never sleeps. He watches over you always."
"Now, truly, does he?" said the child, pressing her flushed cheek against the pillow. "Does he see me in my chubby bed, when the moon's all dark?
"O, my suz!" cried she, suddenly, raising her head; "God can take care o' me most always, you know, but I'm drefful afraid something will catch me while he's 'tending to another man!"
Mrs. Parlin explained to her little daughter, as well as she could, the omnipresence and infinite goodness of God; and while she was still talking, in low, soothing tones, the little one fell asleep.
But about midnight there was a sudden alarm. Lights glanced here and there over the house, and Susy and Prudy were wakened from a deep sleep by the sound of voices. Dotty had a violent attack of croup.
"Put me out doors," gasped the poor little sufferer, when she could speak at all. "I can't breave if the window's ever so up. Get me nearer to the moon. Then I can breave!"
"It's so dreadful!" sobbed Susy. "I feel real sure she's going to die this time."
"O, no, I don't think she will," said Prudy, shaking the tears off her eyelashes. "God took care of me when I had the lameness, and He'll take care of her. He loves her as much as he loves me."
"Now just listen to me," returned Susy, pacing the floor of the green chamber, in her night-dress, while Prudy sat on the edge of the bed. "God loves us all; but that's no sign we can't die! Little children, no older than Dotty, have their breath snatched right away, and are covered up in the ground, with gravestones at their heads and feet. O, you haven't the least idea, Prudy. You never think anything can happen!"
"Well, things don't happen very often, you know, Susy."
"There, Prudy Parlin, don't talk so! I feel just as if Dotty was going to die this very night."
"O, I don't think she will, Susy. But she's God's little girl, and if He wants her up in heaven He has a right to take her. He never'll take her, though, unless it's best, now certainly."
"Sit still, Prudy, just as you are. The moon is shining into the window, on your tears, and it seems as if I could almost see a rainbow in your eyes!—There, it's gone now. What makes you talk so queer about God, Prudy? as if you knew a great deal more than I do?"
"I don't know half as much as you do," replied Prudy; "but I used to lie and think about the Saviour when I had the lameness.—Hark! Is that Dotty laughing? Let's go in and see if she isn't 'most well."
The child was indeed better; but for the next three nights she suffered from severe attacks of the croup. Her sisters had not known how they loved her till she showed her frail side, and they saw how slender was the thread which bound her to earth. When she was strong, and roguish, and wilful, they forgot that she was only a tender flower after all, and might be nipped from the stem any time.
When she was well again, Prudy said to her mother, in confidence, "It didn't kill her, the croup didn't, but it might have killed her; and I'm going to love her all the time as if she was really dead, and gone to heaven."