Ruthie asked if there was anything said about his wife!  Susy, who had read considerable poetry was sure she had heard something of a woman up there, named “Cynthia;” but she supposed it was all “moonshine,” or “made up,” as she expressed it.  She said she meant to ask her aunt Madge to write a fairy story about it.

Here their progress in useful knowledge was cut short by the disappearance of Dotty.  Looking out of the window, they saw the little rogue driving ducks with a broomstick.  These ducks had a home not far from Mrs. Parlin’s, and if Dotty Dimple had one temptation stronger than all others, it was the sight of those waddling fowls, with their velvet heads, beads of eyes, and spotted feathers.  When she saw them “marshin’ along,” she was instantly seized with a desire either to head the company or to march in the rear, and set them to quacking.  She was bareheaded, and Susy ran down stairs to bring her into the house; and that was an end of the school for that day.  Dotty Dimple was something like the kettle of molasses which Norah was boiling, very sweet, but very apt to boil over:  she needed watching.

When Norah’s candy was brought up stairs, the little girls pronounced it excellent.

“O, dear,” said Flossy, “I wish our girl was half as good as Norah!  I don’t see why Electa and Norah ain’t more alike when they are own sisters!”

“What dreadful girls your mother always has!” said Susy; “it’s too bad?”

“I know of a girl,” said Prudy, “one you’d like ever’n, ever so much, Flossy; only you can’t have her.”

“Why not?” said Flossy; “my mother would go hundreds of leagues to get a good girl.  Why can’t she have her?”

“O, ’cause, she’s dead! It’s Norah’s cousin over to Ireland.”

They next played the little game of guessing “something in this room,” that begins with a certain letter.  Ruthie puzzled them a long while on the initial S. At last she said she meant “scrutau” (escritoire or scrutoire), pointing towards the article with her finger.

“Why, that’s a writing-desk,” said Susy.  “I don’t see where you learn so many big worns, Ruthie.”

“O, I take notice, and remember them,” replied Ruthie, looking quite pleased.  She thought Susy was praising her.

“Now let me tell some letters,” said Prudy.

“L.R.  She lives at your house, Flossy.”

Nobody could guess.

“Why, I should think that was easy enough,” said Prudy:  “it’s that girl that lives there; she takes off the covers of your stove with a clothes-pin:  it’s ‘Lecta Rosbornd.’”

The little girls explained to Prudy that the true initials of Electa Osborne would be E.O., instead of L.R.  But Prudy did not know much about spelling.  She had known most of her letters; but it was some time ago, and they had nearly all slipped out of her head.

She said, often, she wished she could “only, only read;” and Susy offered to teach her, but Mrs. Parlin said it would never do till Prudy felt stronger.