sprang forward and
kissed Horace on the bridge of the nose.

"There, you've knocked off my cap."

In stooping to pick it up, he awkwardly hit his head against the older
girl, who already looked so mischievous that he was rather afraid of
her.

"Wish I could get out of the way. She expects me to speak, but I shan't.

"'Needles and pins, needles and pins,
When a man travels his trouble begins.'"

Horace was obliged to stand, very ill at ease, till the black-eyed lady
had found out where he lived, who his father was, and what was his
mother's name before she was married.

"Tell your father, when you go home, you have seen Mrs. Bonnycastle,
formerly Ann Jones, and give him my regards. I knew he married a lady
from Maine."

"I know sumpin," struck in Fly; "if ever _I_ marry anybody, I'll marry
my own brother Hollis. I mean if I don't be a ole maid!"

"And what is 'a ole maid,' you little witch?"

"I don' know; some folks is," was the wise reply. Flyaway was about to
add "Gampa Clifford," but did not feel well enough acquainted to talk of
family matters.

When the Bonnycastles left, at Cleveland, Horace thought that was the
last of them. Miss Gerty was "decent-looking, looked some like Cassy
Hallock; but he couldn't bear to see folks giggle; hoped he never should
set eyes on those people again." Whether he ever did, you shall hear one
of these days.

"O, Topknot," said he, "your hair looks like a mop. Do you want all
creation laughing at you? You'll mortify me to death."

"You ought to water it. If you don't take better care o' your little
sister, I won't never ride with you no more, Hollis Clifford!"

"Well, see that you don't, you little scarecrow," said the suffering
boy, out of all patience. "If you are going to act in New York as you
have on the road, I wish I was well out of this scrape."

Flyaway was really a sight to behold. How she managed to tear her dress
off the waist, and loose five boot buttons, and last, but not least, the
very hat she wore on her head, _would_ have been a mystery if you hadn't
seen her run.

When they reached the city, Horace put the soft, flying locks in as
good order as he could, and tied them up in his handkerchief.

"I wisht I hadn't come," whined Fly; "I don't want to wear a hangerfiss;
'tisn't speckerble!"

"Hush right up! I'm not going to have you get cold!--My sorrows! Shan't
I be thankful when I get where there's a woman to take care of her?"

On the pla