“He acts so every morning when I bathe him,” said Susy, who would not give up the point; “but Mrs. Mason told me to do it!  Dotty always cried when she was washed, till she was ever so old.”

“I think,” said Mrs. Parlin, who had just entered the kitchen, “I must ask Mrs. Mason if she is very sure it is proper to treat little birds in that way.”

“But look, mamma; here he is, shaking out his feathers, all bright and happy again.  O, you cunning little Dandy, now we’ll hang you up in the sun to dry.  See him hop on one foot; that is just to make me laugh.”

“But I hop on one foot, too,” said little Prudy, “and you don’t laugh at me.”

“This is a droll little head for fancies,” said Mrs. Parlin, patting Prudy’s curls, and looking at grandma Read.  “Do you know, mother, that for several days she has made believe she was lame Jessie, and has hobbled about whenever she could think of it.”

“Now you mustn’t laugh,” said Prudy, looking up with a grieved face; I can’t never help hopping; I have to hop.  My knee was so sick, I cried last night, and I was just as wide-awakeful!”

“Ain’t thee afraid the child has been hurt in some way, my daughter?” said grandma Read.

“O, no, mother,” said Mrs. Parlin, smiling, as Prudy limped out of the room.  “I have examined her knee, and there is nothing the matter with it.  She is only imitating that lame child.  You know Prudy has all sorts of whims.  Don’t you know how she has wanted us to call her Jessie sometimes?”

“Why, no, indeed, grandma, she isn’t lame,” said Susy, laughing.  “Sometimes she will run about the room as well as I do, and then, in a few minutes, when she thinks of it, she will limp and take hold of chairs.  Mother, isn’t it just the same as a wrong story for Prudy to act that way?  If I did so, you’d punish me; now, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know what to think about it,” said Mrs. Parlin, gravely.  “Sometimes I am afraid Prudy is really becoming naughty and deceitful.  I thought once it was only her funny way of playing; but she is getting old enough now to know the difference between truth and falsehood.”

There was an anxious look on Mrs. Parlin’s face.  She was a faithful mother, and watched her children’s conduct with the tenderest care.

But this lameness of which little Prudy complained, was something more than play; it was a sad truth, as the family learned very soon.  Instead of walking properly when her mother bade her do so, the poor child cried bitterly, said it hurt her, and she was so tired she wished they would let her lie on the sofa, and never get up.  At times she seemed better; and when everybody thought she was quite well, suddenly the pain and weakness would come again, and she could only limp, or walk by catching hold of chairs.

At last her father called in a physician.

“How long has this child been lame?” said he.