“Well, dear,” said grandma, coming up stairs one morning, all out of breath, “what did you call me for?  What do you want, little one?”

“I don’t know,” said Prudy, “but I guess I shall want somethin’ by and by.”

“There, there, darling,” said grandma, “don’t cry.”

“No, I won’t,” said Prudy, trying to stop.  “I was a-talkin’ to myself, and I said, ‘I won’t cry no more,’ and then I cried.  I don’t like to stay in this country, grandma, ‘thout I can have somethin’ to eat!”

“Of all things,” said grandma, “I don’t believe there’s a little girl any where that has so many nice things as you do.  See the jelly, and oranges, and lemons, and ­”

“Well, if I wasn’t sick, grandma, and you should ask me to eat some smashed potatoes, and some pie, I’d eat ’em,” said Prudy, smiling through her tears.

“Bless your little heart,” cried grandma, kissing Prudy’s pale cheek.  “Can’t you think of something besides eating?  What pretty thing shall I bring you to look at?”

“O, now I know what it is I want,” replied Prudy, lifting her head from the pillow, “I want to eat up the old lady!”

Prudy was thinking of a little image aunt Madge had formed out of candy.

“O, that’s made to be looked at,” said grandma.  “Let’s see ­where do you suppose your little Zip is nowadays?  I guess he misses Prudy.”

“I don’ know ­I ate a little dog once,” said Prudy, wiping her eyes.  “He was made out of a doughnut.  Once when I lived to Portland ­to my mother’s Portland ­I used to eat things.”

Poor grandma herself could hardly keep from crying to see Prudy so hungry.

“Here is some nice arrow-root,” said she.  “You may have it all if you like.  You are a darling little girl not to tease for things you ought not to have.”

“I believe,” she went on, looking at patient little Prudy, as she drained the bowl, “I should like to give such a good child a pretty present.”

“O, dear me suz!” screamed Prudy, “I’m glad I didn’t go to heaven yet. ­Will it be a little wee doll that can live in a thimble? ­made out of sugar?”

“Well,” said grandma, “I don’t know, You may be thinking all day what you would like best.  Not to eat, dear, but to keep, remember.  Now I must go down stairs ­but here come Grace and Susy, so you won’t be lonesome.”

It was pleasant to see how softly the little girls entered the room, and how the glad smiles came and went on Prudy’s face when they tried to amuse her.

They were dressed in a very funny rig.  Susy looked a great deal wiser than an owl, out of a pair of spectacles without any eyes, and a flaring cap.  Grace had stuck some false hair on her head, and a bonnet that looked as if a wagon wheel had rolled over it.

“Fine day, Mrs. Prudy,” said Grace; “how have you been, ma’am?”

“I’ve been a-thinkin’,” said Prudy, smiling, “about my present.”

“You see we’ve come a-visiting, Mrs. Prudy,” said Grace.  “Very sorry, ma’am, to see your doll looking so sick.  Has she got the smallpox?”

“No, ma’am,” answered Prudy, delighted, “she’s got the measles!”

“Deary me,” said Susy, pushing back her cap, and trying to look frightened, “how was she taken, ma’am?”

“Taken?” repeated Prudy, “taken sick!  She’s got it all over her.”

“Poor little creeter!” cried Grace, rolling up her eyes, “how she must suffer!  I hope she’s out of her head.  Does she have her senses, ma’am?”

“Her what?” said Prudy.  “O, yes’m, she’s got ’em.  I laid ’em up on the shelf, to keep ’em for her.”

Here the two visitors turned away their heads to laugh.  “What do you s’pose my present will be?” said Prudy, forgetting their play.  “Look here, Susy, I could take that vase now, and smash it right down on the floor, and break it, and grandma wouldn’t scold ­’cause I’m sick, you know.”

“But you wouldn’t do it,” said Grace.  “O, here come Mr. Allen and aunt Madge.  Now, Mrs. Prudy, you’re going to have a ride.”

Mr. Allen laughed to see aunt Madge bundle Prudy so much, and said the child would be so heavy that he could not carry her in his arms; but I think he found her only too light after all.

Prudy almost forgot how hungry she was when she was seated in her little carriage and wheeled about the pleasant yard.  She had an idea that the trees and the flowers in the garden were having good times, and the open windows of the house looked as if they were laughing.  But she did not say much, and when aunt Madge asked her what made her so quiet, she said she was “a-thinkin’.”  And the most of her small thoughts were about her present.

“Now,” said Mr. Allen, “I’m going to hold you up so you can peep over into the pig-pen.  There, do you see that little mite of a white piggy?”

“O, dear, dear, dear!” cried Prudy, clapping her hands, “what a cunning little piggy-wiggy!  He looks nice enough to eat right up!  I never did see such a darling!  O, he winks his eyes ­see him!  He ain’t dead, is he?  Not a mite?”

“No, my little dear, he’s alive enough, if that’s all,” said Mr. Allen.

“O, my stars!” said Prudy, sighing with delight.  “Don’t you wish you had such a pretty pink nose, and such little bits of shiny eyes?”

Mr. Allen laughed.

“O, so white and nice!” added Prudy.  “He hasn’t got a speck of red cheeks, ’cept his nose and little toes.  Mayn’t he have one of my oranges?  I never did see any thing look so much like a sugar pig.”

It did Mr. Allen and aunt Madge a world of good to see the child so pleased.

“Do you know,” said she, eagerly, “who that piggy b’longs to?”

“Why, to grandpa, I suppose.”

“O,” said Prudy, very sadly, while the bright color died out of her cheeks at once, “I didn’t know but it b’longed to grandma.”

“Well, you little pet,” said aunt Madge, laughing, “what do you care who it b’longs to?  You can look at it all the same, can’t you?”

“But,” said Prudy, “do you s’pose ­”

“S’pose what?”

“Do you s’pose if grandpa thought I was a darlin’ ­” Prudy could get no farther.

“Of course he knows you’re a darling!” said aunt Madge.

“Do you s’pose when I don’t tease for things to eat, and grandma says I may think what I want for a present, he’d be willing I should have ­she should give me that ­piggy?”

“O, what a Prudy!” said aunt Madge, laughing till she cried.  “Isn’t there something nicer you would like for a present?  You’d better think again.”

“O, no, no,” said Prudy, trembling with eagerness.  “If grandma should give me a house full of dolls and candy all rolled up, and every single present in the world, I’d rather have that piggy.”

“Well, well,” said Mr. Allen, “I guess the folks that wouldn’t give their pigs away to Prudy don’t live here.  Let’s go and see.”

They went into the house to see grandpa.  Of course he said Yes.

“Of all the funny presents!” said grandma; ­but Prudy was happy, and that was enough.

Grandpa was very kind, but there was one thing he would not consent to ­he would not let the pig come into the house.  But as he said he would be sure to take good care of it, and give it sweet milk to drink, Prudy did not mind so much.

When she grew stronger she fed it herself, and the pretty creature knew her, and was glad to see her, Prudy thought.  Now she had a great many presents that summer, but none that pleased her half so well as the little pet pig.