Little Prudy's Sister Susy Part 9

"Have I any right to be cross? Yes, I think I have. Here Dotty woke me up, right in the middle of a dream, and I'm sleepy this minute. Then Prudy is a little babyish thing, and always was--making a fuss if I forget to call her Rosy Frances! Yes, I'll be cross, and act just as I want to. It's too hard work to keep pleasant; I won't try."

She walked along to the door, but, by that time, the better spirit was struggling to be heard.

"Now, Susy Parlin," it said, "you little girl with a pony, and a pair of skates, and feet to walk on, and everything you want, ain't you ashamed, when you think of that dear little sister you pushed down stairs--no, didn't push--that poor little lame sister!--O, hark! there is your mother winding up that hard splint! How would you feel with such a thing on your hip? Go, this minute, and comfort Prudy!"

The impatient feelings were gone for that time; Susy had swallowed them, or they had flown out of the window.

"Now Rosy Frances Eastman Mary," said she, "if your splint is all fixed, I'll comb your hair."

The splint was made of hard, polished wood and bra.s.s. Under it were strips of plaster an inch wide, which wound round and round the poor wounded limb. These strips of plaster became loose, and there was a little key-hole in the splint, into which Mrs. Parlin put a key, and wound up and tightened the plaster every morning. This operation did not hurt Prudy at all.

"Now," said Susy, after she had combed Prudy's hair carefully, and put a net over it, until her mother should be ready to curl it, "now we will have a game of checkers."

Prudy played in high glee, for Susy allowed her to jump all her men, and march triumphantly into the king-row, at the head of a victorious army.

"There, now, Rosy," said Susy, gently, "are you willing to let me go out riding? I can't play any more if I ride, for I must dress Dotty's doll, and feed my canary."

"O, well," said Prudy, considering the matter, "I'm sick; I tell you how it is, I'm sick, you know; but--well, you may go, Susy, if you'll make up a story as long as a mile."

Susy really felt grateful to Prudy, but it was her own gentle manner which had charmed the sick child into giving her consent.

Then Susy proceeded to dress Dotty's doll in a very simple fas.h.i.+on, with two holes for short sleeves, and a skirt with a raw edge; but she looked kind and pleasant while she was at work, and Dotty was just as well pleased as if it had been an elegant costume she was preparing. And it was really good enough for a poor deformed rag-baby, with a head shaped like a stove-pipe.

Susy was delighted to find how well a little patience served her in amusing "the children." Next, she went to give Dandy his morning bath.

Mrs. Parlin still thought it a dangerous practice, but had not seen Mrs.

Mason, to question her about it, and Susy was too obstinate in her opinion to listen to her mother.

"I must do it," said Susy; "it has been ever so long since Dandy was bathed, and I shouldn't take any comfort riding, mamma, if I didn't leave him clean."

Susy plunged the trembling canary into his little bathing-bowl, in some haste. He struggled as usual, and begged, with his weak, piping voice, to be spared such an infliction. But Susy was resolute.

"It'll do you good, Ducky Daddles; we mustn't have any lazy, dirty birdies in this house."

Ducky Daddies rolled up his little eyes, and gasped for breath.

"O, look, mother!" cried Susy, laughing; "how funny Dandy acts! Do you suppose it's to make me laugh? O, is he fainting away?"

"Fainting away! My dear child, he is dying!"

This was the sad truth. Mrs. Parlin fanned him, hoping to call back the lingering breath. But it was too late. One or two more throbs, and his frightened little heart had ceased to beat; his frail life had gone out as suddenly as a spark of fire.

Susy was too much shocked to speak. She stood holding the stiffening bird in her hands, and gazing at it.

Mrs. Parlin was very sorry for Susy, and had too much kindness of feeling to add to her distress by saying,--

"You know how I warned you, Susy."

Susy was already suffering for her obstinacy and disregard of her mother's advice; and Mrs. Parlin believed she would lay the lesson to heart quite as well without more words. It was a bitter lesson. Susy loved dumb creatures dearly, and was just becoming very fond of Dandy.

In the midst of her trouble, and while her eyes were swollen with tears, her cousin Percy came with Wings and the sleigh to give her the promised ride. Susy no longer cared for going out: it seemed to her that her heart was almost broken.

"Well, cousin Indigo, what is the matter?" said Percy; "you look as if this world was a howling wilderness, and you wanted to howl too. What, crying over that bird? Poh! I can buy you a screech-owl any time, that will make twice the noise he could in his best days. Come, hurry, and put your things on!"

Susy buried her face in her ap.r.o.n.

"I'll compose a dirge for him," said Percy.

"My bird is dead, said Susy P., My bird is dead; O, deary me!

He sang so sweet, te whee, te whee; He sings no more; O, deary me!

Go hang his cage up in the tree, That cage I care no more to see.

My bird is dead, cried Susy P."

These provoking words Percy drawled out in a sing-song voice. It was too much. Susy's eyes flashed through her tears.

"You've always laughed at me, Percy Eastman, and plagued me about Freddy Jackson, and everything, and I've borne it like a--like a lady. But when you go to laughing at my poor little Dandy that's dead, and can't speak--"

Susy was about to say, "Can't speak for himself," but saw in time how absurdly she was talking, and stopped short.

Percy laughed.

"Where are you going with that cage?"

"Going to put it away, where I'll never see it again," sobbed poor Susy.

"Give it to me," said Percy: "I'll take care of it for you."

If Susy's eyes had not been blinded by tears, she would have been surprised to see the real pity in Percy's face.

He was a rollicking boy, full of merriment and bl.u.s.ter, and what tender feelings he possessed, he took such a wonderful amount of pains to conceal, that Susy never suspected he had any. She would have enjoyed her ride if she had not felt so full of grief. The day was beautiful.

There had been a storm, and the trees looked as if they had been s...o...b..lling one another; but Susy had no eye for trees, and just then hardly cared for her pony.

Percy put the cage in the sleigh, under the buffalo robes; and when they reached his own door, he carried the cage into the house, while Susy drew a sigh of relief. He offered to stuff Dandy, or have him stuffed; but Susy rejected the idea with horror.

"No, if Dandy was dead, he was all dead; she didn't want to see him sitting up stiff and cold, when he couldn't sing a speck."

CHAPTER VIII.

ANNIE LOVEJOY.

But the day was not over yet. The bright sun and blue sky were doing what they could to make a cheerful time of it, but it seemed as if Susy fell more deeply into trouble, as the hours pa.s.sed on.

There are such days in everybody's life, when it rains small vexations from morning till night, and when all we can do is to hope for better things to-morrow.

It was Wednesday; and in the afternoon, Flossy Eastman came over with a new game, and while the little girls, Flossy, Susy and Prudy were playing it, and trying their best to keep Dotty Dimple's prying fingers and long curls out of the way, in came Miss Annie Lovejoy.