"It wasn't you, was it, Pincher," cried Horace, seizing his dog by both ears. "I reckon if they tried to shoot you they'd catch it."

"Now, Susy, it's your turn," said Grace.

"No, Horace's; he's the oldest."

"Pshaw!" returned Horace, who had been the very first one to propose stories, "I'd like to get shut of it. Pshaw! I can't think of nothin'."

"But you must, you know, Horace; so it's no use to grumble."

"O shucks! Has it got to be true?"

"Don't say 'shucks,' Horace," said Grace, gently. "You can tell a true story, or make it up as you go along.--Come, hurry."

"I know what _I'm_ goin' to tell," whispered Prudy to Horace.

"Well," said the boy, thinking a moment, "I'll tell my story double quick, and be done with it."

"You'd ought to see my pa's horse out West, auntie; there ain't a Yankee horse can hold a candle to him; I'll leave it to Pincher. His name is Sancho, and my ma sends him to market mornings, early, with the basket, and puts some money in, and a note to the butcher, and that horse comes back, sir, just as fast as he can trot, sir, and he has the meat there all wrapped up, and just has the basket in his teeth, this way."

"Why, Horace Clifford!" cried Grace, in surprise; "why, what a story!"

"Of course it's a story. You wanted me to tell a story, didn't you? I was just a-blowin'."

"Well, there, tell something nice, can't you, please?"

"I've told all the story I'm a-goin' to," said Horace, firmly. "Now it's Susy's turn."

"You talk about something else a while," replied Susy, "and let me be a-thinkin'."

"I'll tell one," cried Prudy, "let _me_, now."

"Once there was goin' to be three b.a.l.l.s, and Cindrilla didn't have no mother, and her father didn't have no wife, so he married him one. And there was goin' to be three great big b.a.l.l.s, and Cindrilla asked her mother if she couldn't go, and her mother said, No, indeed; she hadn't nothin' to wear. And then they started off, and her grandma came,--O, I forgot, the woman was wicked, and she made her little girls sit in the parlor, all dressed up spandy clean, and she made Cindrilla sit in the coal-hod."

"And then she told her to get a great punkin, and it turned into a gold hack, and she went off into the back shed and got the rat-trap, and it turned into two footmens,--and the king's son--O, no----"

"And then there was some bugs round there, and they was six horses, and she got in and rode on to the ball, and her shoes come off, and then the king married her, and she had the other shoe in her pocket, and he married her right off, and they're all safe now."

"All safe?" said aunt Madge, laughing; "what do you mean by that?"

"O, now she'll have a good father and a good mother, and won't sit in the coal-hod no more.--Now it's your turn, Susy."

"O dear suz! I was going to tell a story, a fairy story. It was going to be a real good one, about 'The Bravest of Lion's Castle,' and I couldn't think of a thing to say, and now Prudy has drove it all out of my head."

"Well, children," said aunt Madge, "suppose we give Susy a little more time, and excuse her for to-night? It's time for pleasant dreams now, and kisses all 'round."

CHAPTER XI

PRUDY'S WHITE TEA

"Blessings on the blessed children!" said aunt Madge, one morning soon after this. "So we little folks are going out to spend the day, are we?"

"Yes'm," replied Grace, "all but Horace."

"Yes," said Prudy, dancing in high glee, "grandma wants _me_ to go, and I'm goin'. I mean to do every single thing grandma wants me to."

"I wish you could go with us, aunt Madge," said Grace, almost pouting; "we don't have half so good times with aunt Louise."

"No, we don't," cried Prudy; "she wants us to 'take care' all the time. She don't love little girls when she has 'the nervous.'"

Almost while they were talking, their aunt Louise came into the room, looking prettier than ever in her new pink dress. She was a very young lady, hardly fifteen years old.

"Come, Prudy," said she, smiling, "please run up stairs and get my parasol--there's a darling."

But Prudy was picking a pebble out of her shoe, and did not start at once.

"Ah!" said aunt Louise, drawing on her gloves, "I see Prudy isn't going to mind me."

"Well, don't you see me getting up out of my chair?" said Prudy.

"There now, don't you see me got clear to the door?"

"O dear," said poor aunt Louise to her sister, "what shall I do all this long day with three noisy children? I'm afraid some of them will get drowned, or run over, or break their necks. You see if something awful doesn't happen before we get back."

"O, I hope not," replied sister Madge, laughing. "I think there is nothing so very wicked about our little nieces."

"Here is your parasol, auntie," said Prudy, coming back. "I know who I love best of any body in this house, and it ain't the one that's got her bonnet on--it's a-r-n-t, aunt, M-i-g, Madge."

"Well, you ought to love your aunt _Mig_, all of you," said aunt Louise, laughing, "for I do believe she thinks you children are as lovely as little white rose-buds.--Come, are you all ready? Then run along, and I'll follow after."

"O, I'm so glad I'm alive!" cried little Prudy, hoping on one foot; "I do hope I shall never die!"

"I just mean to be careful, and not get a speck of dirt on my clean ap.r.o.n," whispered Susy to Grace. "Aunt Madge ironed it this morning."

They had such a pleasant walk through the streets of the beautiful village, in the "sunshine, calm and sweet!" Grace thought the trees met overhead just as if they were clasping hands, and playing a game of "King's Cruise" for every body to "march through."

When they had almost reached aunt Martha's house, aunt Louise stopped them, saying,--

"Now, tell me if you are going to be good children, so I shan't be ashamed of you?"

"Why, yes, auntie," said Grace, looking quite grieved and surprised.

"O, auntie," said Susy, "did you think we were going to be naughty?"

"No, you'll mean to be good, I dare say," answered aunt Louise, speaking more kindly,--"if you don't forget it. And you'll be a nice, dear little girl, won't you, Prudy?"

"I don't know," said Prudy, coolly.