Randy’s delight knew no bounds, and she could hardly wait to hunt for needles and have her first lesson in knitting.
That night, in their little chamber under the eaves, the children talked of Aunt Prudence.
“I always said Aunt Prudence might be nice, if we really knew her,” said Randy.
“Yes,” said Prue, “you said that when she was here before, I ’member it; but, Randy,” she added, “that was when I was a little girl.”
Randy stifled a laugh, “Why, Prue, what are you now?” said she.
“Now, Randy, you do know you medjured me last Saturday, and you said I’d growed most a inch.”
“Well, so you have,” said Randy, gently, “and it’s likely you’ll grow a lot more this winter.”
“Course I will,” said Prue, “and, oh, Randy, mustn’t Aunt Prudence have growed awful fast when she was a little girl? Just think how big she is now! She’s growed good awful fast, too, Randy,” she continued, “for she wouldn’t have gived me that little cradle for anything the last time she was here, would she, Randy?”
Randy ignored this question.
“We ought to be going to sleep, Prue,” she said; “but I’ll tell you something first: I mean to be just as nice to Aunt Prudence as I can, while she stays here.”