whom she loved best; but she only answered she "didn't
know." She might have been Daniel in the lions' den, or Joseph in the
pit, for all the difference to her.

"How very singular!" said aunt Martha. "I wish her mother would come.
Do feel her pulse, John, and see if it is fever."

"Nothing of the kind," said uncle John, as the little one's head
dropped on his shoulder. "Overcome by the heat; that's all. I'll just
lay her down on the sofa."

When Mrs. Clifford came, she was surprised to find the child fast
asleep. She would not have her wakened for dinner; so Flyaway missed
her "secretary." But when it was three o'clock, and she still slept,
Mrs. Clifford feared something was wrong, and decided to take her
home. Uncle John had "Lightning Dodger" harnessed, and brought around
to the door.

"Wake up, little daughter," said Mrs. Clifford; "we are going home
now."

Flyaway looked around vacantly, her eyes as heavy as drenched violets.

"You must come again, and stay longer," said aunt Martha; "it is
hardly polite not to let little girls have their dinners--do you think
it is?"

"Yes 'm," replied Flyaway, faintly. She did not understand a word any
one said; it all sounded as indistinct as the roaring of a sea-shell.
By the time she was lifted into her mother's arms in the carriage,
she was nodding again. When they reached home she scarcely spoke,
but, dropping upon the sofa, went on with her dreams. It was odd for
Flyaway to take a nap in the daytime, and such a long one as this!

"It must be a very warm day," said Mrs. Parlin, "for Prudy and Dotty
have been asleep too."

"Where did they go after they sold the rags?" asked Mrs. Clifford;
"they all look pale."

"To a photograph saloon. Here are the tin-types they brought home to
me," replied grandma, producing them from her pocket, with a gratified
smile.

"Very good, mother--don't you think so? I would be glad to have as
truthful a likeness of our little Katie; but she must be taken asleep.
I wonder, by the way, if there wasn't something in the air of the
saloon which made the children all so languid?"

"Why, yes, Maria; very likely it was the ether. Now you speak of it, I
am confident it must have been the ether."

"I knew just such an instance before," said Mrs. Clifford; "and that
is why I happened to think of it now."

About four o'clock Flyaway came to her senses.

"Where's the wheelbarrel?" said she, rubbing her eyes.

"O, Horace came and took it