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.