"I don't know, I'm sure," replied Susy; "you must ask."
"Well, I never teased for any. Horace gave 'em to me, and I shan't swallow 'em."
"O, what a little snipe," cried Grace, laughing, "your pocket is stuffed so full it's going to burst open, and you'll be sick again, now you see!"
"Sick?" repeated Prudy, looking frightened, for she did not forget her severe illness; "then I'll throw 'em away. I don't love such sour things anyhow. I was only hung-buggin'."
And Prudy went down the wooden stairs which led from the trees, and walked slowly towards the house, dropping the green apples one by one into the grass.
At the kitchen door she met her aunt Madge, who was in tears.
"O auntie," said she, "I'm going to wash my hands spandy clean, and then are you willing there is any thing I can have to eat?"
"Cookies, if you like, my dear."
"O auntie," cried Prudy, eager with a new thought, "won't you tell me where them raisins is—the ones you didn't put in the pudding? Tell me, O, do, do! If you will, I won't touch 'em, true as the world."
"Then why do you want to know where they are?" said aunt Madge, a faint smile flitting across her face and then dying out again.