Dotty Dimples Flyaway | Page 5

side now and forever. She began to feel quite contented. She had got
inside the church at last, and was very well pleased with it. It was even
queerer than she had expected.
"What was that high-up thing the prayer-man was a-standin' on?"
Flyaway merely asked this of her own wise little brain. She concluded
it must be "a chimley."
"Great red curtains ahind him," added she, still conversing with her
own little brain. "Lots o' great big bubbles on the walls all round. Big's
a tea-kiddle! Lamps, I s'pose. There's that table. Where's the cups and
saucers for the supper? And the tea-pot?
"All the bodies everywhere had their bonnets on; why for? Didn't say a
word, and the prayer-man kep' a-talkin' all the time; why for? Flywer

didn't talk; no indeed. Folks mus'n't. If folks did, then the man would
come down out the chimley and tell the other bodies to carry 'em home.
'Cause it's the holy Sabber-day,--and that's what is it."
Flyaway's airy brain went dancing round and round. She slid away
from Horace's shoulder, spread her little length upon the seat, closed
her wondering, tired eyes, and sailed off to Noddle's Island. A fly,
buzzing in from out doors, had long been trying to settle on Flyaway's
restless nose. He never did settle: Horace kept guard with a palm-leaf
fan, and "all the other bodies" in the pew sat as still as if they had been
nailed down; so anxious were they to keep the little sleeper safely
harbored at Noddle's Island.
"Such a relief!" thought aunt Louise, venturing to look up once more.
Flyaway did not waken till the last prayer, when Horace held her fast,
lest she should make a sudden rush upon a speckled dog, which came
trotting up the aisle.
On the steps they met Ruth, with wild eyes and face tied up in a scarf,
hunting for Flyaway. Mrs. Parlin, she said, was going up the hill, so
frightened that it would make her "down sick."
When grandma got home, all out of breath, she found Flyaway looking
very downcast. Her heart was heavy under so many scoldings. "O,
Katie," said grandma, "how could you run away?"
"I didn't yun away," replied Flyaway, thrusting her finger into her
mouth; "I walked away!"
"There, if that isn't a cunning baby, where'll you find one?" whispered
brother Horace to Prudy. "Grandmother can't punish her after such a
'cute speech."
But grandmother could, and did. She took her by the little soft hand, led
her to the china closet, and locked her in.
"Half an hour you must stay there," said she, "and think what a naughty

girl you've been!"
"Yes um," said Flyaway, meekly, and wiped off a tear with the hem of
her frock.
But the moment she was left alone, her quick, observing eyes saw
something which gave her a thrill of delight. It was a jar of quince jelly,
which had been left by accident on the lower shelf.
"'Cause I spect I likes um," said she, serenely, after eating all she
possibly could.
At the end of half an hour grandma came and turned the key.
"Have you been thinking, dear, and are you sorry and ready to come
out?"
"Yes, um," replied the little culprit, with her mouth full, and feeling
very brave as long as the door was shut between her and her jailer.
"Yes, um, I've thought it all up,--defful solly. But you won't never shut
me up no more, gamma Parlin!"
"Katie Clifford!" said grandma, sternly; and then she opened the door,
and faced Flyaway.
"'Cause--'cause--'cause," cried the little one, in great alarm; "you won't
shut me up, 'cause I won't never walk away no more, gamma Parlin!"
Mrs. Parlin tried hard not to smile; but the mixture on Flyaway's little
face of naughtiness, jelly, and fright, was very funny to see.
The child noticed that her grandmother's brows knit as if in displeasure,
and then she remembered the jelly.
"I hasn't been a-touchin' your 'serves, gamma," said she.
Mrs. Parlin really did not know what to do,--Flyaway's conscience was
so little and folded away in so many thicknesses, like a tiny pearl in a
whole box of cotton wool. How could anybody get at it?

"Gamma, I hasn't been a-touchin' your 'serves," repeated the little thief.
"Ah, don't tell me that," said grandma, sadly; "I see it in your eye!"
"What, gamma, the 'serves in my eye?" said Flyaway, putting up her
finger to find out for herself. "'Cause I put 'em in my mouf, I did."
Mrs. Parlin washed the little pilferer's face and hands, took her in her
lap, and tried to feel her way through the cotton wool to the tiny
conscience.
The child looked up and listened to all the good words,