she meant to ask her aunt
Madge to write a fairy story about it.

Here their progress in useful knowledge was cut short by the
disappearance of Dotty. Looking out of the window, they saw the little
rogue driving ducks with a broomstick. These ducks had a home not far
from Mrs. Parlin's, and if Dotty Dimple had one temptation stronger than
all others, it was the sight of those waddling fowls, with their velvet
heads, beads of eyes, and spotted feathers. When she saw them "marshin'
along," she was instantly seized with a desire either to head the
company or to march in the rear, and set them to quacking. She was
bareheaded, and Susy ran down stairs to bring her into the house; and
that was an end of the school for that day. Dotty Dimple was something
like the kettle of molasses which Norah was boiling, very sweet, but
very apt to _boil over_: she needed watching.

When Norah's candy was brought up stairs, the little girls pronounced it
excellent.

"O, dear," said Flossy, "I wish our girl was half as good as Norah! I
don't see why Electa and Norah ain't more alike when they are own
sisters!"

"What dreadful girls your mother always has!" said Susy; "it's too bad?"

"I know of a girl," said Prudy, "one you'd like ever'n, ever so much,
Flossy; only you can't have her."

"Why not?" said Flossy; "my mother would go hundreds of leagues to get a
good girl. Why can't she have her?"

"O, 'cause, she's _dead!_ It's Norah's cousin over to Ireland."

They next played the little game of guessing "something in this room,"
that begins with a certain letter. Ruthie puzzled them a long while on
the initial S. At last she said she meant "scrutau" (escritoire or
scrutoire), pointing towards the article with her finger.

"Why, that's a _writing-desk_," said Susy. "I don't see where you learn
so many big worns, Ruthie."

"O, I take notice, and remember them," replied Ruthie, looking quite
pleased. She thought Susy was praising her.

"Now let _me_ tell some letters," said Prudy.

"L.R. She lives at your house, Flossy."

Nobody could guess.

"Why, I should think _that_ was easy enough," said Prudy: "it's that
girl that lives there; she takes off the covers of your stove with a
clothes-pin: it's 'Lecta Rosbornd.'"

The little girls explained to Prudy that the true initials of Electa
Osborne would be E.O., instead of L.R. But Prudy did not know much about
spelling. She _had_ known most of her letters; but it was some time ago,