And she went to find
him on the wharf and nobody could tell her where he was. And she went
down close to the water and looked in and he was there with his face up
and a stick in his hand and he was dead in the water and she saw him."
"Is that true?" asked Marjorie, in surprise.
"Yes, true every word. And then her husband died and she came to live
with Aunt Prue's father and mother ever so long ago. And she cried and
it was sad."
"But I know she knows some funny stories. She will tell you about Aunt
Prue when she was little."
"She has told me. And about my papa. He used to like to have muffins for
tea."
"Oh, I know! Now I know! I'll take you to Lizzie Harrowgate's to stay
until I come from school. You will like that. There is a baby there
and a little girl four years old. Do you want to go?"
"If I can't go to school, I do," in a resigned voice.
"And you must not speak of school; remember, Prue, do not say that you
wanted to go, or that I wouldn't take you; do not speak of school at
all."
"No, I will not," promised Prue; "and when that thing doesn't happen any
more you will take me?"
XIX.
A STORY THAT WAS NOT VERY SAD.
"Children have neither past nor future; and, what scarcely ever happens
to us, they enjoy the present."--_Bruyere._
Prue was watching at the window with Minnie Harrowgate, and was joyfully
ready to go home to see Aunt Prue when Marjorie and Lizzie Harrowgate
appeared.
Standing a few moments near the parlor register, while Prue ran to put on
her wraps, Marjorie's eye would wander to the Holland plate on the
bracket.
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