"O, 'cause," said Prudy, "then I can tell Susy, and she can get 'em!"
"You can each of you have a handful," said aunt Madge, reaching down the box. "You may have some, for I know you wouldn't take them without leave, and Susy wouldn't either, you funny child!"
"Now," said she, putting the raisins in Prudy's apron, "I want you to go out of doors and keep very still."
"Why do you cry so, my dearest auntie in the world?" said Prudy, climbing into a chair, and throwing her arms around her auntie's neck, while the raisins dropped to the floor; "is Mr. 'Gustus Allen dead?"
"No," said aunt Madge, hugging little Prudy as if she was good for the heartache, "the baby is a great deal worse, darling! Tell the children I will send them some dinner up in the trees, and don't let Horace come into the house. You know he means to keep still, but his boots make so much noise."
Prudy gathered up the raisins, and went out quietly, her happy little face looking very sober. But the "bird-child" could not be sad long at a time, and she had hardly climbed the steps into the trees, and given away the clusters of raisins, before the sick baby was almost forgotten.
"There," said Horace, suddenly, "I must go right into the house and see Harry. I haven't seen him to-day."
"O, no, no!" cried Prudy, holding him back, and speaking very fast, "he's a great deal wusser, and auntie said your boots was so big she'd send the dinner out here; and then she cried like every thing."
"O," said Grace, "I'm so afraid the baby won't get well! Aunt Madge didn't say any thing about dying—about Harry's dying, did she, Prudy?"
"No," replied Prudy, stopping a moment to think; "she said he was wusser—a great deal wusser, darling. And then she talked about Horace's boots, and that's all."