“Poh, as if I minded your make-believe, Dotty!  I was only thinking about aunt Madge—­that’s all.”

“What has she done?” asked Dotty as she went on stamping her mud cake with the head of a pin.

“It isn’t done yet, Dotty; but it will be.  She’s going to be married.”

Dotty dropped her mud-cake.  “Why! who to?  Abner?”

“O, dear, no!  To Mr.—­I mean Colonel—­Augustus Allen.  Didn’t you ever hear of that?”

“Was that why he sent his objections to mamma?” asked Dotty, in a low voice.

“He sent his respects to mother, if that’s what you mean; and in the same letter he said, ‘Give oceans of love to Prudy.’  As if it wasn’t bad enough to break my heart, without trying to drown me,” murmured Prudy, with dripping eyes.

“I don’t see what you’re crying for,” broke in her little sister.  “I shall marry my papa one of these days.  I should think you’d feel badder about that.  Who’s you goin’ to marry, Prudy?”

“Nobody, Dotty, as long as I live!  I shall stay at home with my mother, and she’ll be sitting in the rocking-chair, knitting, and father’ll be sitting by the window, reading the paper.—­But there,” added she, “aunt Madge might be married three or four times, and I wouldn’t care.  It’s her going to New York that makes my heart ache so.”

“Well, shell come back bimeby,” said Dotty, soothingly.

“O,” replied Prudy, with a wise smile; “seems to me when I was four years old I knew a great deal more than you do, child!  People that are married stay away always.”

“I wish they wouldn’t,” cried Dotty, beginning to feel alarmed.  “I’ll ask Colonel ’Gustus to marry Abby Grant after she gets growed, and let my auntie stay at home.”

“The worst of it is,” continued Prudy, glad of her sister’s sympathy, such as it was, “Colonel Allen is a lawyer.”

“Well, isn’t lawyers as good as white folks?”

“The only trouble with lawyers, Dotty, is, that they can’t write so you can read it.  My father told me so.  He said their writing was like turkey’s tracks.  He said it looked as if a fly had got into the inkstand, and crawled over the paper.”

Dotty’s face was the picture of distress.

“It’s a drefful thing to grow up a nidiot,” said she, drawing her mouth down as she had seen Prudy do when beseeching her to learn the alphabet.  “Don’t he know all the letters, skippin’ about?”

Here aunt Louise’s voice was heard, from the piazza.  She asked if the children would like to go with her and see Mrs. Gray’s baby.  After a little washing and brushing they were ready.

“Auntie,” said Dotty, as they walked along, “you’ve got my porkmonnaie.”

“Very true; so I have.”

“How much money is in my porkmonnaie?”

“Two dollars and a half.  Why?”

“’Cause I want to give it to Mr. Colonel Allen, to make him marry Abby
Grant when she gets growed.  I ’spise her, and I want her to go to New
York.  There’s where the husbands and wives go.”