ing, under breath, "Please, God, keep me from doing wrong." She had
found that was really the only way--the only _safe_ way.

"Everybody calls me amiable. They wouldn't if they knew how I have to
grit my teeth together to keep from scolding. I like to be called
amiable, but nobody'll do it again; and Horace sees now I'm not the girl
he thought I was."

All Prudy's hail-stones of wrath had melted into tear-drops, and she was
sobbing them into her handkerchief. She did not clearly know whether she
was crying because she had done wrong, or because Horace would see she
"was not the girl he had thought she was."

"Bless your dear little soul," said Dr. Moonshine, kneeling before her,
while his blue swallow-tails swept the floor, "you've told the truth.
Everybody knows Dot's a spitfire, and you're an angel; and she does
impose upon you most abominably."

Dotty stood staring, with a plate in her hand, too much astonished to
defend herself.

"And I'm ashamed of firing so many jokes at you, Prue; I am so. I'm a
great joker (he meant a great _wit_!), but this is the first time I ever
mistrusted you cared--you always take things so like a lamb,--or you'd
better believe I wouldn't have done it. For there isn't a girl in the
world I like so well as I do you, nor begin to."

"O, Hollis," moaned the little one, stirred by sudden jealousy.

"Hullelo! I forgot you, Topknot.--You're my heart's jewel; that's
generally understood. When I say I like Prue, I mean next after you."

The jealous Fly was satisfied, and folded her little wings against
Horace's breast. Prudy felt greatly soothed, but her cap-strings were
still shaking, and she could not trust her voice to speak. Nothing more
was said for some time. Dotty clattered away at the dishes, kitty purred
by the stove, and Horace rocked his little sister, who clung about his
neck like an everlasting pea. Presently he stopped rocking, and
exclaimed,--

"Why, what's the matter with my Toddlekins? What makes her breathe so
short?"

"My froat's short; that's what is it," replied the little philosopher,
closing her eyes, as if she did not choose to talk.

"But how does your throat feel, Topknot?"

"Feels bad; why?"

"Girls, this child has a sore throat, and a high fever. Her hands are as
hot as pepper."

Dotty wrung the dish-cloth tragically.

"She's going to have the measles; you see'f she don't."

"Hush!" said Prudy, springing up, and tucking back her sleeves. "Let's
give