"But I can't bear it any longer," said the child, bursting into tears.
"Prudy is all lame and sick, and I never shall walk any more while you
call me Prudy, papa."

Mr. Parlin kissed his little daughters's pale cheek, and said, "Then we
will call you pet names; will that do?"

Prudy smiled with delight.

"I've thought of a real beautiful, splendid name," said she. "It is Rosy
Frances Eastman Mary; ain't it splendid?"

After this announcement, Prudy expected the family would be sure to call
her Rosy Frances Eastman Mary; and, indeed, they were quite willing to
please her, whenever they could remember the name. They all supposed it
was a fancy she would forget in a day or two; but, instead of that, she
clung to it more and more fondly. If any one offered her an orange, or
roasted apple, and said, "Look, Prudy; here is something nice for you,"
she would turn her face over to one side on the pillow, and make no
reply. If she wanted a thing very much, she would never accept it when
she was addressed by the obnoxious name of Prudy. Even when her father
wanted to take her in his arms to rest her, and happened to say, "Prudy,
shall I hold you a little while?" she would say, "Who was you a-talkin'
to, papa? There isn't any Prudy here!" Then her father had to humble
himself, and ask to be forgiven for being so forgetful.

The child had a delicate appetite, and her mother tried to tempt it with
little niceties; but, no matter what pains she took, Prudy relished
nothing unless it was given to her as Rosy Frances, the little girl who
was _not_ Prudy.

"O, here is a glass of lemonade for you, Prudy; made on purpose for
you," Susy would say; "do drink it!"

"O, dear me, suz," cried Prudy, with tears falling over her cheeks; "O,
Susy, you plague me, and I never done a thing to you! You called me
Prudy, and I ain't Prudy, never again! Call me Rosy Frances Eastman
Mary, and I'll drink the lemonade."

"You precious little sister," said Susy, bending over her gently,
"you'll forgive me; won't you, darling?"

"I'll try to," replied Prudy, with a look of meek forbearance, as she
sipped the lemonade.

CHAPTER VII.

LITTLE TROUBLES.

Somebody said once to Susy and Flossy, when they were having a frolic in
"Prudy's sitting-room," up stairs, "What happy little things! You don't
know what trouble is, and never will, till you grow up!"

The little girls preserved a respectful silence, till the lady was out
of hearing,