Not so with little Prue. She sat between Helen and Randy, and all the way home her chatter was interspersed with snatches of the songs which had been a part of their games.
“‘On the green carpet here we stand,
Take your true love by the hand,
Give her a kiss and send her away,
And tell her—’
“That’s just the best picnic I ever saw, wasn’t it, Randy?”
Before Randy could answer, out rang the childish treble again:—
“‘Sailor in er boat when the tide runs high,
Sailor in er boat when the tide runs high,
Sailor in er boat when the tide runs high,
Waiting for a pretty girl to—’
“Oh, Miss Dayton, don’t you think Jotham’s ’most as nice as a prince? I do,” said Prue, without waiting for an answer, although she looked up in Miss Dayton’s face expectantly.
Helen took Prue’s little dimpled hand in her own as she said: “All princes are not good, although many of them are very, very good indeed. Jotham has a good face, and I am sure when I really know him I shall like him very much. If he grows to be a good, brave, true man, that is worth much more than being a prince.”
“Yes’m,” said Prue, not quite catching Helen’s meaning, yet vaguely understanding that Jotham was fully appreciated. Prue’s curly head swayed a little, like a tired flower; and Helen, slipping her arm around her, drew her toward her, and soon the little girl’s head lay against her new friend.
Still she sang, although drowsily:—
“‘Oh, what a beautiful choice you’ve made,
Don’t you wish you’d longer stayed?’”