Somebody said once to Susy and Flossy, when they were having a frolic in “Prudy’s sitting-room,” up stairs, “What happy little things!  You don’t know what trouble is, and never will, till you grow up!”

The little girls preserved a respectful silence, till the lady was out of hearing, and then held an indignant discussion as to the truth of what she had said.  It would have been a discussion, I mean, if they had not both taken the same side of the question.

“How she sighed,” said Susy, “just as if she was the melancholiest person that ever was!” Susy was famous for the use she made of adjectives, forming the superlatives just as it happened.

“Yes, just the way,” responded Flossy.  “I’d like to know what ever happened to her?  Pshaw!  She laughed this afternoon, and ate apples fast enough!”

“O, she thinks she must make believe have a dreadful time, because she is grown up,” said Susy, scornfully.  “She’s forgot she was ever a little girl!  I’ve had troubles; I guess I have!  And I know one thing, I shall remember ’em when I grow up, and not say, ‘What happy little things!’ to children.  It’s real hateful!”

Little folks have trouble, to be sure.  Their hearts are full of it, and running over, sometimes; and how can the largest heart that ever beat be more than full, and running over?

Susy had daily trials.  They were sent to her because they were good for her.  Shadows and night-dews are good for flowers.  If the sun had shone on Susy always, and she had never had any shadows and night dews, she would have scorched up into a selfish girl.

One of her trials was Miss Dotty Dimple.  Now, she loved Dotty dearly, and considered her funny all over, from the crown of her head to the soles of her little twinkling feet, which were squeezed into a pair of gaiters.  Dotty loved those gaiters as if they were alive.  She had a great contempt for the slippers she wore in the morning, but it was her “darlin’ gaiters,” which she put on in the afternoon, and loved next to father and mother, and all her best friends.

When ladies called, she stepped very briskly across the floor, looking down at her feet, and tiptoeing about, till the ladies smiled, and said, “O, what sweet little boots!” and then she was perfectly happy.

Susy was not very wide awake in the morning; but Dotty was stirring as soon as there was a peep of light, and usually stole into Susy’s bed to have a frolic.  Nothing but a story would keep her still, and poor Susy often wondered which was harder, to be used as a football by Dotty, or to tell stories with her eyes shut.

“O, Dotty Dimple, keep still; can’t you?  There’s a darling,” she would plead, longing for another nap; “don’t kill me.”

“No, no; me won’t kill,” the little one would reply; “’tisn’t pooty to kill!”

“O, dear, you little, cunning, darling plague, now hush, and let me go to sleep!”