"There, Prudy Parlin, don't talk so! I feel just as if Dotty was going to die this very night."
"O, I don't think she will, Susy. But she's God's little girl, and if He wants her up in heaven He has a right to take her. He never'll take her, though, unless it's best, now certainly."
"Sit still, Prudy, just as you are. The moon is shining into the window, on your tears, and it seems as if I could almost see a rainbow in your eyes!—There, it's gone now. What makes you talk so queer about God, Prudy? as if you knew a great deal more than I do?"
"I don't know half as much as you do," replied Prudy; "but I used to lie and think about the Saviour when I had the lameness.—Hark! Is that Dotty laughing? Let's go in and see if she isn't 'most well."
The child was indeed better; but for the next three nights she suffered from severe attacks of the croup. Her sisters had not known how they loved her till she showed her frail side, and they saw how slender was the thread which bound her to earth. When she was strong, and roguish, and wilful, they forgot that she was only a tender flower after all, and might be nipped from the stem any time.
When she was well again, Prudy said to her mother, in confidence, "It didn't kill her, the croup didn't, but it might have killed her; and I'm going to love her all the time as if she was really dead, and gone to heaven."
CHAPTER XI.
BUYING A BROTHER.
"One, two, buckle my slipper! no, my gaiters," repeated Miss Dimple, as Prudy laced her boots. "I wish I was a horse, then my shoes would be nailed on, and be done with it."