Around the house and barn, down by the well, and, lastly, into the barn went Randy, calling, “Prue! Prue! where are you?”
“Here!” called a little voice.
“Where?” shouted Randy.
“Up here!” came the answer, which appeared to come from the loft.
Up the ladder went Randy, and, once at the top, she espied a funny little figure sitting on the hay. “Why, Prue,” said Randy, “what are you doing up here? Why didn’t you come when I called?”
“I couldn’t,” said Prue; “I’m helping mother, and I’ve got to stay. Mother said you could help her make pies, so I came up here and I’m sitting on some eggs. The old hen’s left them, and mother said they’d just got to be set on.”
“Oh, Prue!” said Randy, “you’d ought to know better. If you’ve smashed them, won’t you be a sight?”
“I ain’t smashed them,” said the child; but upon Randy’s insisting, she rose from the nest, only to show that not an egg remained whole, as her pink calico dress plainly showed.
“Well, I never got into such scrapes,” said Randy, for once out of patience.
“Now, Randy,” said Prue, “don’t you talk that way; that’s just like Aunt Prudence;” and that silenced Randy completely.