Little Prudys Dotty Dimple | Page 3

name, whatever it may be, for I am
very much opposed to pet names, of all sorts."
After every one else had spoken, Mrs. Parlin suggested that she would
like to call the baby Alice Barrow, in honor of a dear friend, now in
heaven.
She grew to be a fair, fat baby; and while her teeth were pricking
through, like little pointed pearls, Susy's front teeth were dropping out.
Then she grew to be a toddling child; and while she was learning to
walk, Prudy was beginning to sew patchwork. For time does not stand
still; it passed, minute by minute, over the heads of Susy, Prudy, and
Alice, as well as all the rest of the world. And soon it brought an end to
Alice's babyhood.
CHAPTER II.
THE BONE MAN.
In spite of all Mr. Parlin had said against it, his little daughter was
called by various pet names,--such as Midge, and Ladybird, and
Forget-me-not. Very few were the people who seemed to remember
that her name was Alice.
She had a pair of busy dimples, which were a constant delight to her
sisters.
"They twinkle, twinkle like little stars, only they don't shine," cried
Prudy.
"Why," said Susy, "it's just as if her cheeks were made of water, and we
were skipping pebbles in 'em."
And because of these tiny whirl pools, the child was usually called
Dotty Dimple. From the time she could stand on her own little feet, she

was a queen of a baby, and carried her small head very high. If she
chanced to fall over a chair she seldom shed a tear, but thought the
chair had treated her shamefully, and ought to be shut up in the closet.
She never liked to have any one kiss her little bruises and pity her. It
gave great offence if any one said, "Poor Alice!" She seemed to grow
half a head taller in a minute, and looked as if she would say, "Needn't
make a baby o' me!"
Not that she really said so. Talking was a thing she did not often
attempt, though she sang a great deal, with a voice as clear as a flute.
Prudy mourned because her tongue "did not grow fast enough." But
where was the need of speech? If she fancied she would like to be
tossed to the "sky of the room," she had only to pat her father's arm,
and point upward, and the next minute she was flying to the ceiling, in
high glee, and catching her breath. If she wished to go walking, it was
enough to point to the door, and then to her hat. Her little forefinger
was as good as most people's tongues, and served as a tolerably good
guide-post, for it pointed the way she meant to go herself, and the way
she wished others to go.
One day, while Mrs. Parlin was making currant jelly, she allowed
Prudy to stay in the kitchen, and see her strain the beautiful crimson
juice. But as for Alice, she had been found pounding eggs in a mortar,
and must be taken away. She was placed in care of Susy, who led her
out upon the piazza, where she could watch the people passing by.
"_Pedadder!_" cried Alice, showing her dimples. "Yes, _piazza_; so it
is," said careless Susy, beginning to read a fairy story, and soon
forgetting her quiet little charge.
Looking up at last, there was nothing to be seen of Alice. She could not
have entered the house, for the front-door knob was above her reach.
Susy ran out upon the pavement, and looked up and down the street.
Which way to go she could not tell, but started down street at full speed.
"O, I'm sure I ought to be going up street," gasped she; "and if I was, I
shouldn't think that was right either. Wish I knew which way I should
expect Dotty to go, and then I'd know she'd gone just the other way."

After flitting hither and thither for some time, Susy ran home to give
the alarm. Without stopping to remove the jelly from the stove, Mrs.
Parlin, Norah, and Prudy ran out of doors, and taking different
directions, started in search of the missing child.
On High Street Prudy met a soap-man, just reentering his wagon at
some one's door.
"O, have you seen my little sister?" cried Prudy, pressing her hand
against her heart.
"Your little sister? And who may that be?" said the soap-man, in a deep
whisper; for he had such a severe cold on his lungs that for six months
he had not spoken a loud word.
"O, her name is Alice Wheelbarrow Parlin, sir," whispered Prudy, in
reply; "and she had on a pink dress, and her hair