Prudy had a great many odd fancies now: among others, she had a fancy
that she did not like the name of Prudy.

"Why; only think," said she, "you keep a-calling me Prudy, and Prudy,
and Prudy. It makes my head ache, to have you say Prudy so much."

"But, my dear child," said Mr. Parlin, smiling, "it happens,
unfortunately, that Prudy is your name; so I think you will have to try
and bear it as well as you can."

"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