"O, little Prudence, has thee broken thy neck?"

Mrs. Parlin rushed out, too frightened to speak, and Mr. Parlin ran down
stairs, and took Prudy up in his arms.

"It was--you--did it--Susy Parlin," sobbed the child. "I
shouldn't--have--fell, if you--hadn't--have--screamed."

The poor little girl spoke slowly and with difficulty, as if she dropped
a bucket into her full heart, and drew up the words one at a time.

"O, mother, I know it was me," said Susy meekly; "and I was careless,
and it was all in the dark. I'm sure I hope Prudy'll forgive me."

"No, it wasn't you, neither," said Prudy, whose good humor was restored
the moment Susy had made what she considered due confession. "You never
touched me, Susy! It was the _chair_; and I love you just as dearly as
ever I did."

Prudy lay on the sofa for some time, looking quite pale by the
gas-light, while her mother rubbed her side, and the rest of the family
stood looking at her with anxious faces.

It was quite an important occasion for Prudy, who always liked to be the
centre of attraction.

"O, mamma," said she, closing her eyes languidly, "when the room makes
believe whirl round, does it _truly_ whirl round?"