How strangely it pounded out the strokes in the night! What a dreary sound it was, pealing through the silence! The echoes answered with a shudder.

Then, when Prudy had counted one, two, three, four, and the clock had no more to say at that time, it began to tick again: "Prudy's sick! Prudy's sick! O, dear me! O, dear me!" Prudy could hardly believe it was the same clock she saw in the daytime.
She wondered if it felt lonesome in the night, and had the blues; or what _could_ ail it! The poor little girl wanted somebody to speak to in these long, long hours.

She did not sleep with Susy, but in a new cot-bed of her own, in aunt Madge's room; for, dearly as she loved to lie close to any one she loved, she begged now to sleep alone, "so nobody could hit her, or move her, or joggle her." It was a great comfort to have aunt Madge so near.

If it had been Susy instead, Prudy would have had no company but the sound of her breathing.
It was of no use to try to wake Susy in the dead of night.

Pricking her with pins would startle her, but she never knew anything even after she was startled.