Produced by Al Haines. [Illustration: Cover art] _LITTLE PRUDY SERIES_ *LITTLE PRUDY’S CAPTAIN HORACE* *BY SOPHIE MAY* THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO. CHICAGO — AKRON, OHIO — NEW YORK 1919 LITTLE PRUDY SERIES LITTLE PRUDY LITTLE PRUDY’S STORY BOOK LITTLE PRUDY’S COUSIN GRACE LITTLE PRUDY’S CAPTAIN HORACE LITTLE PRUDY’S SISTER SUSIE LITTLE PRUDY’S DOTTY DIMPLE *Contents* I. Making Candy II. Camping Out III. Taking a Journey IV. At Grandpa Parlin’s V. Captain of a Company VI. Susie and Prudy VII. In the Woods VIII. Captain Clifford IX. The Blue Book X. Trying to get Rich XI. The Little Indian XII. A Pleasant Surprise *CAPTAIN HORACE* *CHAPTER I* *MAKING CANDY* Grace and Horace Clifford lived in Indiana, and so were called "Hoosiers." Their home, with its charming grounds, was a little way out of town, and from the front windows of the house you could look out on the broad Ohio, a river which would be very beautiful if its yellow waters were only once settled. As far as the eye could see, the earth was one vast plain, and, in order to touch it, the sky seemed to stoop very low; whereas, in New England, the gray-headed mountains appear to go up part way to meet the sky. One fine evening in May, brown-eyed Horace and blue-eyed Grace stood on the balcony, leaning against the iron railing, watching the stars, and chatting together. One thing is very sure: they never dreamed that from this evening their sayings and doings—particularly Horace’s—were to be printed in a book. If anyone had whispered such a thing how dumb Horace would have grown, his chin snuggling down into a hollow place in his neck! and how nervously Grace would have laughed! walking about very fast, and saying,— "O, it’s too bad to put Horace and me in a book! I say it’s too bad! Tell them to wait till my hair is curled, and I have my new pink dress on! And tell them to make Horace talk better! He plays so much with the Dutch boys. O, Horace isn’t fit to print!" This is what she might have said if she had thought of being "put in a book;" but as she knew nothing at all about it, she only stood very quietly leaning against the balcony-railing, and looking up at the evening sky, merry with stars. "What a shiny night, Horace! What do the stars look like? Is it diamond rings?" "I’ll tell you, Gracie; it’s cigars they look like—just the ends of cigars when somebody is smoking." At that moment the cluster called the "Seven Sisters" was drowned in a soft, white cloud.