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"Where's the wheelbarrel?" said she, rubbing her eyes. "O, Horace came and took it," said Dotty. "Hasn't this been the queerest day!" "You said you's goin' to take me to aunt Marfie's; why didn't you?" "O, we did; we took you, you know." "Dotty Dimpul, I shouldn't think you'd make any believe." "I'm not 'making any believe' am I, Prudy?" "No, Fly, she isn't.
"'Cause, 'cause, mamma, I didn't go to aunt Marfie's!" "Yes, you did, my precious daughter; but you were asleep and dreaming. We brought you home in the carriage, and you didn't know it. Can't you believe it because I say so?" Flyaway made no reply except to curl her head under Mrs. Clifford's arm, like a frightened chicken under its mother's wing. Mrs. Clifford looked troubled.
"'Haps I did go to aunt Marfie's, mamma; 'haps I was asleep!" "That's right, Miss Topknot," cried Horace; "now your brother'll carry you pickaback." A little while afterward Mrs. Clifford began a letter to her husband. "I am going to tell papa about his little girl that she is very well." "O, no, you needn't, mamma," said Flyaway, laughing; "papa knows it. I was well at home."
"Now, Fly, we will go to aunt Martha's." But Fly was amusing herself by scraping dirt out of the cracks of her boots with a bit of glass. "Dotty won't be to aunt Marfie's. I don't want to stay where Dotty isn't." "But your mamma will be there, you know; and I told you what they are going to have for dinner." "Yes, secretary," said Flyaway, proud of her memory.
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