istrust on the young face.

"Listen to me, little Flyaway. I think the man was in sport; he was
only playing with you, as Horace does sometimes, when he calls himself
your horse."

Flyaway said no more, but she pressed her eyelids together again, and
felt that she had been trifled with. Half an hour afterwards Prudy
heard her repeating, slowly, to herself, "Folks--does--tell--lies."

"Why, here she is," called Dotty from the piazza; "come, Fly; we're
going wheel-barrowing."

"Wait a minute, cousin Dotty," said Mrs. Clifford; "Flyaway must put
on a clean frock; she is not coming home with you, but you are to
leave her at aunt Martha's. I shall meet her there at dinner time."

"O, mamma, may I? I love you a hundred rooms full. Let me go bring my
_buttoner bootner_ quick's a minute."

Flyaway was not long in getting ready. She was never long about
anything.

"You said we might have all the money, we three--didn't you, grandma?"
asked Dotty again, at the last moment, thinking how glad she was
Jennie had gone home, and would not claim a share.

"Yes," replied patient grandma for the fifth time; "you may do
anything you like with it, except to buy colored candy."

As they were trundling the wheelbarrow out of the yard, Horace came up
from the garden.

"Prudy," said he, with rather a shame-faced glance at his favorite
cousin, "you girls will cut a pretty figure, parading through the
streets like a gang of pedlers. Come, let me be the driver."

"O, we thought you couldn't leave your flower-beds, sir," replied
Prudy, sweeping a courtesy.

"Well, the weeds _are_ pretty tough, ma'am; roots 'way down in China,
and the Emperor objects to parting with 'em; but--"

"Poh! we don't need any boys," cried the self-sustained Miss Dimple;
"if your hands are too soft, Prudy, you mustn't push. Wait and see
what Dotty Dimple can do."

"O, then, if you spurn me and my offer, good by. I suppose my little
Topknot goes for _surplusage_," said Horace, who liked now and then to
puzzle Dotty with a new word. He meant that Flyaway was of no use, but
rather in the way.

"No, she needn't do any such thing," returned Dotty. "Jump in, Fly,
and sit on the bag." And off moved the gay little party, "the
middle-aged sister" laughing so she could hardly push, Flyaway dancing
up and down on the rag-bag, like a humming-bird balancing itself on a
twig; Grace and Susy looking down from the "green chamber" window, and
saying to each other, with