"I don't care how Horace acts, and I don't want to play with people that have their hair frizzed. I want to go back to auntie's.'
"But you can't, Dotty. Mrs. Pragoff has sent to Mrs. Fixfax for our night-dresses."
Dotty rolled herself up in the curtain, and screamed into the folds of it.
"Why, Dotty, what am I going to do with you? Please come down, and behave."
"O, Prudy, I don't want ever to go down again. I don't want ever to see folks, or behave, as long as I live."
"But, Dotty, all these little boys and girls came here just to see us. It is our Christmas party. You'll mortify Mrs. Pragoff. You know how Fly mortified her this morning. Please _don't_ be contrary."
Dotty unrolled herself from the curtain with a triumphant smile.
"You needn't say anything, Prudy Parlin! You got mad your own self, I s'pose you know!"
"But, Dotty, why do you want to go back to auntie's to-night?"
"I want to go for something particular. I--" Prudy's mouth was opening for another question. "Because I---I've swallowed something the wrong way."
"No; what you s'pose? Guess I've done something to my windpipe. Wish you wouldn't talk."
Prudy, in spite of her vexation, could not help smiling at Dotty's fierce grimaces, of which she got a vanishing view as the child went into the curtain again.
"If we don't go home, Prudy, I'll have to go right to bed. I don't feel like sitting up."
"Then I must ask Mrs. Pragoff where we are to sleep."
And next minute Prudy was half way down stairs, thinking,--
"What's gone wrong? I never can find out by asking _her_. She don't think or care how impolite she is, and how hard she makes it for me."
It was a very brilliant party, composed of some of the most refined and accomplished little people in the city of New York. Such fine dresses and such die-away manners overawed Prudy. She did wish her mamma had sent a thin summer dress in the trunk. It was dreadful to have to wear woollen, high-necked and long-sleeved. It cost her a great effort to cross the room. She felt as awkward as a limping grasshopper in a crowd of butterflies. But reaching her hostess at last, she timidly whispered,--
"My sister _says_ she isn't very well, Mrs. Pragoff, and that's why she stays up stairs. If you please, perhaps she'd better go to bed."