Little Prudys Sister Susy | Page 8

their "best gifts," and the little ones trust them.
"It's like sailing in a boat," cried Susy, riding back and forth about the
yard in great excitement; "why, it's just as easy as the swing in the
oilnut-tree at grandma Parlin's! O, papa, to think I should forget to
thank you!"
But perhaps Mr. Parlin regarded glowing cheeks and shining eyes as
the very best of thanks.
Prudy thought the pony a beautiful "baby horse;" wanted to ride, and
didn't want to; was afraid, and wasn't afraid, and, as her father said,
"had as many minds as some politicians who are said to 'stand on the
fence.'" By and by, after some coaxing, the timid little thing consented
to sit behind Susy, and cling round her waist, if her father would walk
beside her to make sure she didn't fall off. In this way they went home.
"I like to sit so I can hug my sister, while she drives the horse," said
Prudy; "besides, it hurts me to walk."
Mr. Parlin and aunt Madge smiled at the child's speeches, but gave no
more heed to this lameness of which she complained, than they did to

any of the rest of her little freaks.
Prudy liked to be pitied for every small hurt; and when Susy had a sore
throat, and wore a compress, she looked upon her with envy, and felt it
almost as a personal slight that her throat could not be wrapped in a
compress too.
On their way they met "lame Jessie," a little girl with crooked spine and
very high shoulders, who hobbled along on crutches.
"She's lamer than me," said Prudy. "Good morning, Jessie."
"I know what I've thought of," said Susy, who could talk of nothing
which was not in some way connected with her pony. "I'm going to
give that girl some rides. How happy she will be, poor little Jessie!"
"When you get your sleigh," said Mr. Parlin.
"My sleigh, papa? How many more presents are coming?"
"It is hard to tell, Susy; one gift makes way for another, you see. First
comes the pony; but how can he live without a stable, and a groom to
feed him? Then what is a pony worth without a saddle? And, as one
does not wish always to ride pony-back, a sleigh is the next thing."
"But, papa, you know in the summer!"
"Yes, my dear, in the summer, if we all live, there must be a light
carriage made on purpose for you."
"There is one thing more that pony needs," said aunt Madge, stroking
his eyebrows, "and that is, a name."
"O, I never thought of that," said Susy; "help me find a name, auntie."
"Let me think. I should call him something good and pleasant. Think of
something good and pleasant Think of something you like very much."
"O, Frosted Cake," cried Prudy: "wouldn't that be pleasant? Susy loves

that."
"I should like to name him for the American Eagle," said Susy, who
had heard some patriotic speeches from her cousin Percy; "only you
couldn't pet that name, could you?"
"You might call him Don Carlos, or Don Pedro," suggested Mr. Parlin.
"No, papa; only think of Donny: that is like Donkey! You haven't any
long ears, have you, pony? If you had, I'd call you Little Pitcher, for
'little pitchers have great ears.' That makes me think of Mr. Allen,
auntie. How big his ears are, you know? Is it because his teacher pulled
them so?"
"O, call him 'Gustus,'" cried Prudy.
"But that would soon be Gusty," said aunt Madge, "and would sound
too much like the east wind."
"Dear me," sighed Susy; "who'd ever think it was such hard work to
find names?"
"O, look," said Prudy, as they passed a jaded old horse; "there is a pony
just exactly like this! Only it's twice as big, you know, and not a bit
such a color!"
"Well, there, Prudy," said Susy, disdainfully, "I thought, when you
began to speak, you was going to tell something! Why don't you wait
till you have something to say? Please give me a list of names, papa."
"There's Speedwell, Lightfoot, Zephyr, Prince, Will-o'-the-wisp--"
"I might call him Wispy," broke in Susy. "Zephyr is good, only it
makes you think of worsteds."
"Now, listen," said aunt Madge; "you might call him Elephant, just for
sport, because he is in reality so very little. Or, on the other hand, you
might find the least speck of a name, like Firefly, or Midge."

"I don't like any of those," replied Susy, still dissatisfied.
"I see," said aunt Madge, laughing, "nothing will please you but a great
name. What say to Pegasus, a flying horse, which poets are said to ride?
It might be shortened to Peggy."
"Now,