"Didn't you hear somebody singing?" said Prudy; "well, 'twas me."
"O, I was afraid you were crying, my dear."
"Then I'll stop," said the child. "Now, Mrs. Hogshead, you won't hear me singing any more,—it mortifies my mother very much."
So Prudy made her fingers fly, and soon said, "Now, mamma, I've got it done, and I'm ready to be took out!"
Just then her father came into the house. "Prudy's in the hogshead," said Mrs. Parlin. "Won't you please lift her out, father? I've got baby in my arms."
Mr. Parlin peeped into the hogshead. "How in this world did you ever get in here, child?" said he. "I think I'll have to take you out with a pair of tongs."
Prudy laughed.
"Give me your hands," said papa. "Up she comes! Now, come sit on my knee," added he, when they had gone into the parlor, "and tell me how you climbed into that hogshead."
"Mother dropped me in, and I'm going to stay there till I make a bedquilt, only I'm coming out to eat, you know."
Mr. Parlin laughed; but just then the dinner bell rang, and when they went to the table, Prudy was soon so busy with her roasted chicken and custard pie that she forgot all about the patchwork.