"You mean little Harvey? Oh, yes."
"Pray do be careful, ma! Then Mr. Sherwood said to his—I mean, the hat said to the bonnet, that there were some wonderful—ahem—legends, about genii and sprites and—and so forth; not printed, but written, which the boy liked to hear when he was 'overgetting' the measles. A certain lady, not three inches from your chair, ma, was the one who wrote them; and now"—
Prudy had turned about, and the only remnants of her face which looked at all natural—that is, the irises and pupils of her swollen eyes—were shining with curiosity.
"There, now, what is it, Gracie? what is it you don't want me to hear?"
Grace laughed. "Oh, nothing much, dear: never mind."
"You oughtn't to say 'Never mind,'" pursued Prudy: "my mother tells me always to mind."
