so, little sister! Please don't pound so with your feet!"

For when the lion fits were on, it was always safest to let the unhappy
child alone. Prudy, who had no more temper than a humming-bird, and
Susy, who was only moderately fretful once in a while, were made very
unhappy by Dotty's dreadful behavior. At such times as I describe, they
even looked guilty, and cast down their eyes, for they could not help
feeling their sister's conduct as a family disgrace. They never spoke to
any one about it, and bore all her freaks with wonderful patience. When
the little one plucked at their hair or ears, they said, pitifully,--

"It's worse for her than it is for us. It makes her throat _so_ sore to
scream so."

They were especially careful never to provoke her to wrath. Perhaps, for
the sake of peace, they yielded to her too much. If there was anything
Dotty dearly loved, it was her own way; and the thing she most heartily
despised was "giving up."

At the time of which we now write she was no longer a mere baby, and her
"reasons," as Prudy had said, were "beginning to grow." She was never
placed on the wood-box now, with hands and feet tied; and as for
pulling hair, she was ashamed of the practice.

On this particular morning she had "waked up wrong." You all know what
that means. Perhaps her dream stopped in the most interesting place, or
perhaps some of the wonderful machinery of her body was out of order,
and caused a twitching of the delicate nerves which lie under the skin.
At any rate, when the cloudy sun peeped through the white curtains of
Dotty's pleasant chamber, he found that little lady out of sorts.

"There, now, how long have you been awake, Prudy? Why didn't you speak?"

"O, it isn't anywhere near breakfast time, Dotty; Norah hasn't ground
the coffee yet."

"Then I should think she might! She knows I'm hungry, and that makes her
be as slow as a board nail!--I'll tell you what I wish, Prudy. I wish
the whole world was a 'normous cling-stone peach, so I could keep eating
for always, and never come to the stone."

"I don't know," replied Prudy, pleasantly. "I believe I'd rather have it
a Bartlett pear--dead ripe."

"H'm! You may have your old _Bartnot_ pears, Prudy Parlin; nobody wants
'em but just you! The next sweet, juicy peach that comes into this house
I'll eat it myself, 'cause you don't like peaches; you just said you
didn't!"

Prudy was considerate enough to make no reply. By living with Dotty,