At the time of which we now write she was no longer a mere baby, and her "reasons," as Prudy had said, were "beginning to grow." She was never placed on the wood-box now, with hands and feet tied; and as for pulling hair, she was ashamed of the practice.
On this particular morning she had "waked up wrong." You all know what that means. Perhaps her dream stopped in the most interesting place, or perhaps some of the wonderful machinery of her body was out of order, and caused a twitching of the delicate nerves which lie under the skin. At any rate, when the cloudy sun peeped through the white curtains of Dotty's pleasant chamber, he found that little lady out of sorts.
"There, now, how long have you been awake, Prudy? Why didn't you speak?"
"O, it isn't anywhere near breakfast time, Dotty; Norah hasn't ground the coffee yet."
"Then I should think she might! She knows I'm hungry, and that makes her be as slow as a board nail!—I'll tell you what I wish, Prudy. I wish the whole world was a 'normous cling-stone peach, so I could keep eating for always, and never come to the stone."
"I don't know," replied Prudy, pleasantly. "I believe I'd rather have it a Bartlett pear—dead ripe."
"H'm! You may have your old Bartnot pears, Prudy Parlin; nobody wants 'em but just you! The next sweet, juicy peach that comes into this house I'll eat it myself, 'cause you don't like peaches; you just said you didn't!"
Prudy was considerate enough to make no reply. By living with Dotty, she had learned many lessons in "holding her peace."
"Perhaps we'd better get up," suggested she, rubbing her eyes.
Whereupon Dotty pursed her little red lips.