Little Folks Astray | Page 9

said, in one of her very loud whispers, "What's the matter with her? She's got sumpin on her face."
"Hush," whispered Aunt Madge, pinching the child's hand.
"But there is," spoke up Flyaway, very loud in her earnestness; "O, there is sumpin on her face--sumpin red."
There was "sumpin" now on all the other faces in the omnibus, and it was a smile. The lady must have blushed away down under the paint. She looked at her jewelled fingers, tossed her head proudly, and very soon left the stage.
"Topknot, how could you be so rude?" said Horace, severely; "little girls should be seen, and not heard."
"But she speaked to me first," said Flyaway. "I wasn't goin' to say nuffin, and then she speaked."
A young gentleman and lady opposite seemed very much amused.
"I'm afraid of your bright eyes, little dear. I'll give you some candy if you won't tell me how I look," said the young lady, showering sweetmeats into Flyaway's lap.
"Why, I wasn't goin' to tell her how she looked," whispered Fly, very much surprised, and trying to nestle out of sight behind Horace's shoulder.
When they left the omnibus, the children had a discussion about the painted lady, and could not decide whether they were glad or sorry that Fly had spoken out so plainly.
"Good enough for her," said Dotty.
"But it was such a pity to hurt her feelings!" said Prudy.
"Who hurted 'em?" asked Fly, looking rather sheepish.
"Poh! her feelings can't be worth much," remarked Horace; "a woman that'll go and rig herself up in that style."
"She must be near-sighted," said Aunt Madge. "She certainly can't have the faintest idea how thick that paint is. She ought to let somebody else put it on."
"But, auntie, isn't it wicked to wear paint on your cheeks?"
"No, Dotty, only foolish. That woman was handsome once, but her beauty is gone. She thinks she can make herself young again, and then people will admire her."
"O, but they won't; they'll only laugh."
"Very true, Dotty; but I dare say she never thought of that till this little child told her."
"Fly," said Horace, "You are doing a great deal of good going round hurting folks' feelings."
"Poor woman!" said Aunt Madge, with a pitying smile; "she might comfort herself by trying to make her soul beautiful."
"That would be altogether the best plan," said Horace, aside to Prudy; "she can't do much with her body, that's a fact; it's too dried up."
All this while they were passing elegant shops, and Aunt Madge let the children pause as long as they liked before the windows, to admire the beautiful things.
"Whose little grampa is that?" cried Fly, pointing to a Santa Claus standing on the pavement and holding out his hands with a very pleasant smile; "he's all covered with a snow-storm."
"He isn't alive," said Dotty; "and the snow is only painted on his coat in little dots."
"Well, I didn't spect he was alive, Dotty Dimple, only but he made believe he was. And O, see that hossy! he's dead, too, but he looks as if you could ride on him."
"This other window is the handsomest, Fly; don't I wish I had some of those beautiful dripping, red ear-rings?"
"Why, little sister," said Prudy, "I'd as soon think of wanting a gold nose as those cat-tail ear-rings. What would Grandma Read say?"
"Why, she'd say 'thee' and 'thou,' I s'pose, and ask me if I called 'em the ornaments of meek and quiet spirits," said Dotty, with a slight curl of the lip. "Auntie, is it wicked to wear jewels, if your grandma's a Quaker?"
"I think not; that is, if somebody should give you a pair; but I hope somebody never will. It is a mere matter of taste, however. O, children, now I think of it, I'll give you each a little pin-money to spend, to-day, just as you like. A dollar each to Prudy and Dotty; and, Horace, here is fifty cents for Flyaway."
"O, you darling auntie!" cried the little Parlins, in a breath. Dotty shut this, the largest bill she had ever owned, into her red porte-monnaie, feeling sure she should never want for anything again that money can buy.
"There, now, Hollis," said Fly, drawing her mouth down and her eyebrows up, "where's my skipt? my skipt?"
"What? A little snip like you mustn't have money," answered Horace, carelessly; "auntie gave it to me."
The moment he had spoken the words, he was sorry, for 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