Little Prudys Dotty Dimple | Page 4

curls down her neck,
and she has the brightest eyes, and two years and a half of age, sir. O,
where do you s'pose she's gone to?"
In her concern for Dotty, Prudy had forgotten her usual fear of
strangers.
"I'm sorry you've lost your sister," whispered the soap-man; "but as you
seem to be pretty well tired out, suppose you jump into my cart and
ride with me."
Prudy wondered why the man still kept whispering, but presumed there
was some reason why the loss of Dotty aught to be kept secret. She
looked at the long lumber-wagon, partly filled with barrels, and was on
the point of replying, "No, thank you, sir," when a bright idea occurred
to her.
"Do you s'pose, sir, I can get to my sister any quicker if I ride?"
"Well, can't say as to that, my dear," whispered the soap-man, shoving
a barrel to one side, "seeing as I don't know where your sister's to be
found; but there's one thing certain--you'll get over the ground a good

deal quicker riding than you would on your feet. I'm going to Pearl
Street before I stop."
"Then I'll ride, sir, if you'll please lift me in," whispered poor Prudy,
trembling with fear of the uncouth wagon and strange man, yet
resolved to risk anything for Dotty's sake.
There was no seat in the wagon, and Prudy was obliged to stand up.
"Hold on to me, sissy," said the kind-hearted soap-boiler. "I reckon you
ain't used to riding in this kind of shape. Why, lawful sakes, your face
is as white as a pond-lily!"
"It's my heart," whispered Prudy, faintly; "it whisks just like the eggs
Norah beats in a bowl. But it's no matter, sir; I don't think I'm
afraid,--or only a little speck," added she, in a lower whisper; for,
though anxious to be polite, she did not mean to tell anything but the
"white truth."
The little girl's gentle ways won the soap-boiler's heart at once. "What's
your fathers name, little dear?" inquired he, as they went clattering
through the streets.
"His name is Mr. Edward Parlin.--But O, I don't see a single thing of
Dotty!"
"Dotty! Why, who is Dotty?" asked the man, turning about, and gazing
at his little passenger with a look of curiosity.
"Why, Mr.--, why, sir, don't you know?" replied the child, struck with a
sudden fear that her strange companion was a crazy man. "O, my stars!
don't you know what you took me up for? Didn't you hear? My little
sister ran off the piazza." Then Prudy repeated the words aloud, slowly
and on a high key, anxious this time to make her meaning very clear.
"She--ran--off--the--piazza, with a pink dress on, sir, and not a
speck--of--a--hat. And I was stirring jelly on the stove, and never knew
it till she was lost and gone. And we're all hunting,--me, and--mother,
and--all. I thought you knew, sir; but if you didn't I guess I'd better get

out!"
The good-natured soap-man shook with laughter. "Excuse me, little
miss," said he, "but the fact is, I understood you to say your sister's
name was Alice Wheelbarrow Parlin, and that's why I was puzzled to
know who you meant by Dotty.--But here we are at Pearl Street. Here,
in this house, lives one of my best customers. Now, if you like, I'll lift
you out, and you can go with me and inquire for your little sister. Then
you can ride again, for I'm going as far as Munjoy."
So saying, the man took Prudy out in his arms. She knew it was rather
odd for a little girl like her to be going around to people's back doors
with a stranger in a blue blouse; but it was all for Dotty's sake.
The man knocked with the handle of his whip, and a neat-looking
servant girl appeared.
"Have you seen anything of a stray child?" was his first question.
"My little sister," cried Prudy, in breathless haste. "She had on a pink
dress, and curls bareheaded."
"We have seen no such child pass this way," replied the girl, civilly.
Prudy's eager face fell.
"I supposed likely as not you hadn't," said the soap-man; "so now we'll
proceed to business. You see I'm here with my wagon and barrels, and I
suppose you perceive that I've come for your bones!"
These whispered words fell on Prudy's ears with terrible force. A vague
terror seized her. "_I've come for your bones!_" What could he mean?
Was he an ogre, right out of a fairy-book? What did he want of that
poor woman's bones?
Without stopping to think twice, Prudy ran off with trembling haste,
and by the time the astonished soap-boiler missed her she had reached
Congress Street, and was still running.

The