“O, will she?” asked Prudy, a little sadly.  “I thought when she growed up she’d be a gemplum, like papa.”

“What an idea!  But that’s just as much sense as you little bits o’ children have!  When you don’t know about anything, Prudy, you may come and ask me; I’m most six.”

The new baby was very wonderful indeed.  The first thing she did was to cry; the next was to sneeze.  Prudy wished “all the people down street, and all the ladies that lived in the whole o’ the houses, could see the new sister.”  Her heart swelled with pride when admiring ladies took the unconscious little creature in their arms, saying, “Really, it is a remarkably pretty child.  What starry eyes!  What graceful little fingers!  Isn’t her mouth shaped like Prudy’s?”

Mrs. Parlin did not approve of cradles, and the nurse had a fashion of rolling the baby in a blanket and laying her down in all sorts of places.  One day little Prudy flung herself into the big rocking chair, not noticing the small bundle which lay there, under a silk handkerchief.

It was feared at first that the baby was crushed to death; but when she was heard to cry, Mrs. Parlin said, “We have great cause for thankfulness.  So far as I can judge, it is only her nose that is broken!”

But the doctor pronounced the baby’s bones as sound as ever.

“It is only little Miss Prudy whose nose is out of joint,” added he.

Prudy ran to look in the glass, but could not see anything the matter with her nose, or anything that looked like “a joint.”  But after this she was as careful as a child of her heedless age can be, not to injure her tender sister.  She never again saw a silk handkerchief without shaking it to make sure there was not a baby under it.

It was a long while before the friends could decide upon a name for this beautiful stranger.

“For my part I have no choice,” said Mr. Parlin, “and only one remark to make; call the child by her right name, whatever it may be, for I am very much opposed to pet names, of all sorts.”

After every one else had spoken, Mrs. Parlin suggested that she would like to call the baby Alice Barrow, in honor of a dear friend, now in heaven.

She grew to be a fair, fat baby; and while her teeth were pricking through, like little pointed pearls, Susy’s front teeth were dropping out.  Then she grew to be a toddling child; and while she was learning to walk, Prudy was beginning to sew patchwork.  For time does not stand still; it passed, minute by minute, over the heads of Susy, Prudy, and Alice, as well as all the rest of the world.  And soon it brought an end to Alice’s babyhood.

CHAPTER II.

THE BONE MAN.

In spite of all Mr. Parlin had said against it, his little daughter was called by various pet names,—­such as Midge, and Ladybird, and Forget-me-not.  Very few were the people who seemed to remember that her name was Alice.