Little Folks Astray | Page 3

making them happy, and I am sure there are
plenty of things in New York to amuse them. Horace must come
without fail; for the little girl-cousins always depend so much upon
him.'"
A smile rose to Horace's mouth; but he rubbed it off with his napkin. It
was his boast that he was above being flattered.
"But why not have Grace go, too, to keep them steady?" said Mr.
Clifford, bluntly.
Horace applied himself to his buckwheat cakes in silence, and looked
rather gloomy.
"Why, I suppose, Henry, it would hardly be safe to send Grace, on
account of her cough."
"I'm so sorry you asked Dr. De Bruler a word about it, mamma; but I
suppose I must submit," said Grace, with a face as cloudy as Horace's.
"Horace, my son, do you really feel equal to the task of taking this tuft
of feathers to New York?"
"I don't know why not, father; I'm willing to try."
"Horace has good courage," said Grace, shaking her auburn curls like
so many exclamation points. "I never could! I never would! I'd as soon
have the care of a flying squirrel!"
"Hollis never called me a squirl," said Fly, demurely. "I've got two

brothers, and one of 'em is an angel, and the other isn't; but Hollis is
'most as good as the one up in the sky."
"Well, my son," remarked Mr. Clifford, after a pause, "if your mother
gives her consent, I suppose I shall give mine; but it does not look clear
to me yet. One thing is certain, Horace; if you do undertake this
journey, you must live on the watch: you must sleep with both eyes
open. Don't trust the child out of your sight--not for a moment. Don't
even let go her hand on the street."
"I do believe Horace will be as careful as either you or I, Henry, or I
certainly wouldn't trust him with our last little darling," said Mrs.
Clifford.
His mother's words dropped like balm upon Horace's wounded spirit.
He looked up, and felt himself a man again.
CHAPTER II.
THE UNDERTAKING.
When Flyaway knew she was going to New York, it was about as easy
to fit her dresses as to clothe a buzzing blue-bottle fly. With spinning
head and dancing feet, she was set down, at last, in the cars.
"Here we are, all by ourselves, darling, starting off for Gotham. Wave
your handkerchief to mamma. Don't you see her kissing her hand?
There, you needn't spring out of the window! And I declare,
Brown-brimmer, if you haven't thrown away your handkerchief! Here,
cry into mine!"
"I didn't want to cry, Hollis; I wanted to laugh," said the child, wiping
her eyes with her doll's cloak. "When you ride in carriages, you don't
get anywhere; but when you ride in the cars, you get there right off."
"Yes; that's so, my dear. You are in the right of it, as you always are.
Now I am going to turn the seat over, and sit where I can look at
you--just so."

"O, that's just as splendid, Hollis! Now there's only me and Flipperty.
There, I put her 'pellent cloak on wrong; but see, now, I've
un-wrong-side-outed it! Don't she sit up like a lady?"
Her name was Flipperty Flop. She was a large jointed doll (not a doll
with large joints,) had seen a great deal of the world, and didn't think
much of it. She came of a high family, and had such blue blood in her
veins, that the ground wasn't good enough for her to walk on. She wore
a "'pellent cloak" and rubber boots, and had a shopping-bag on her arm
full of "choclid" cakes. She was nearly as large as her mother, and all
of two years older. A great deal had happened to her before her mother
was born, and a great deal more since. Sometimes it was dropsy, and
she had to be tapped, when pints of sawdust would run out. Sometimes
it was consumption, and she wasted to such a skeleton that she had to
be revived with cotton. She had lost her head more than once, but it
never affected her brains: she was all the better with a young head now
and then on her old shoulders. Her present ailment appeared to be
small-pox; she was badly pitted with pins and a penknife. "I declare I
forgot to get a ticket for her," said Horace. "What if the conductor
shouldn't let her pass?"
"O, Hollis, but he must?" cried Fly, springing to her feet; "I shan't pass
athout my Flipperty! Tell the 'ductor 'bout my white mouses died, and I
can't go athout sumpin to carry."
"Pshaw! Dotty Dimple don't carry dolls. She don't like 'em: sensible
girls never