Talking was a thing she did not often attempt, though she sang a great deal, with a voice as clear as a flute.
Prudy mourned because her tongue "did not grow fast enough." But where was the need of speech?
If she fancied she would like to be tossed to the "sky of the room," she had only to pat her father's arm, and point upward, and the next minute she was flying to the ceiling, in high glee, and catching her breath.

If she wished to go walking, it was enough to point to the door, and then to her hat.

Her little forefinger was as good as most people's tongues, and served as a tolerably good guide-post, for it pointed the way she meant to go herself, and the way she wished others to go.
One day, while Mrs.Parlin was making currant jelly, she allowed Prudy to stay in the kitchen, and see her strain the beautiful crimson juice.
But as for Alice, she had been found pounding eggs in a mortar, and must be taken away.

She was placed in care of Susy, who led her out upon the piazza, where she could watch the people passing by.

"_Pedadder!_" cried Alice, showing her dimples.