r the child was too
young and sensitive to be trifled with. She never doubted that her great
cruel brother had robbed her. It was too much. Her "dove's eyes" shot
fire. Flyaway could be terribly angry, and her anger was "as quick as a
chain o' lightning." Before any one had time to think twice, she had
turned on her little heel, and was running away. With one impulse the
whole party turned and followed.

"Prudy and I haven't breath enough to run," said Aunt Madge. "Here we
are at Stewart's. You'll find us in the rotunda, Horace. Come back here
with Fly, as soon as you have caught her."

As soon as he had caught her!

They were on Broadway, which was lined with people, moving to and fro.
Horace and Dotty had to push their way through the crowd, while little
Fly seemed to float like a creature of air.

"Stop, Fly! Stop, Fly!" cried Horace; but that only added speed to her
wings.

"She's like a piece of thistle-down," laughed Horace; "when you get near
her you blow her away."

"Stop, O, stop," cried Dotty; "Horace was only in fun. Don't run away
from us, Fly."

But by this time the child was so far off that the words were lost in
the din.

"Why, where is she? I don't see her," exclaimed Horace, as the little
blue figure suddenly vanished, like a puff of smoke. "Did she cross the
street?"

"I don't know, Horace. O, dear, I don't know."

It was the first time a fear had entered either of their minds. Knowing
very little of the danger of large cities, they had not dreamed that the
foolish little Fly might get caught in some dreadful spider's web.

CHAPTER V.

DOTTY HAVING HER OWN WAY.

Yes, Fly was out of sight; that was certain. Whether she had turned to
the right, or to the left, or had merely gone straight on, fallen down,
and been trampled on, that was the question. How was one to find out?
People enough to inquire of, but nobody to answer.

Horace had as many thoughts as a drowning man. How had he ever dared
bring such a will-o'-the-wisp away from home? How had his mother
consented to let him? His father had charged him, over and over, not to
let go Fly's hand in the street. That did very well to talk about; but
what could you do with a child that wasn't made of flesh and blood, but
the very lightest kind of gas?

"Dotty, turn down this street, and I'll keep on up Broadway. No--no;
you'd get lost. What shall we do? Go just where I do, as hard as you can
run, and don't lose sight of me."

Do