"You don't know how trying it is, Mrs.Shotwell! That hired girl, Betsey, hears with her elbows, Mrs.Shotwell; I verily believe she does!" "O, no, ma'am," replied Prudy; "I guess she doesn't hear with her elbows, does she?
If she _heard_ with her elbows, she wouldn't have to ask you over again!" This queer little speech set Mr.Piper and his wife, and their servant, all to laughing, and Betsey looked at her elbows, to see if they were in the right place.
"Will you please, ma'am," said Prudy, "ask Betsey to _hot_ a flatiron?
I've cried my handkerchief all up!" "Yes; go right out, Betsey, and _hot_ a flatiron," said Mrs.Piper, very hospitably.

"Go out, this instant, and build a fire, Betsey." "Yes, go right out, Betsey," echoed Mr.Piper, who could find nothing better to do than to repeat his wife's words; for, in spite of himself, she did appear to be the "head of the family." "It was my darlin' husband's handkerchief," sobbed Prudy.
"Rather a small one for a man," said Mr.Piper, laughing.
"Well," replied Prudy, rather quick for a thought, "my husband had a very small nose!" Mrs.Piper tried to make more "conversation." "O, Mrs.Shotwell, you ought to be exceeding thankful you're a widow, and don't keep house! I think my hired girls will carry down my gray hairs to the grave! The last one I had was Irish, and very Catholic." Prudy groaned for sympathy, and wiped her eyes on that corner of her handkerchief which was supposed to be not quite "cried up." "Yes, indeed, it was awful," continued Mrs.Piper; "for she was always going to masses and mass-meetings; and there couldn't anybody die but they must be 'waked,' you know." "Why, I didn't know they could be waked up when they was dead," said Prudy, opening her eyes.
"O, but they only _make believe_ you can wake 'em," said Mrs.Piper; "of course it isn't true! For my part, I don't believe a word an Irish girl says, any way." "Hush, my child," she continued, turning to Dotty, who was now sharpening the silver knife on the edges of the iron grate.

"Betsey, why in the world don't you see to that baby?
I believe you are losing your mind!" "That makes me think," said Prudy, suddenly breaking in with a new idea; "what do you s'pose the reason is folks can't be waked up?
What makes 'em stay in heaven all the days, and nights, and years, and never come down here to see anybody, not a minute ?" "What an idea!" said Annie.

"I'm sure I don't know." "Well, I've been a thinkin'," said Prudy, answering her own question, "that when God has sended 'em up to the sky, they like to stay up there the best.

It's a nicer place, a great deal nicer place, up to God's house." "O, yes, of course," replied Annie, "but our play--" "I've been a thinkin'," continued Prudy, "that when I go up to God's house, I shan't wear the splint.