Little Folks Astray | Page 8

stages, and her affections were
the last part of her to wake up. Just now she did not love Katie Clifford
one bit, nor her own mother either.
"Won't you light the lamp?" piped Flyaway.
"Please don't, Fly," said Prudy; "don't talk!"
"Won't you light the la-amp?"

"No, we will not," said Dotty, firmly.
"Won't you light the la-amp?"
"Is this what we came to New York for?" moaned Dotty; "to be waked
up in the middle of the night by folks singing?"
"Won't you light the la-amp?"
"I'll pack my dresses, and go right home! I'll--I'll have Fly Clifford
sleep out o' this room. Why, I--I--"
"Won't you light the la-amp?"
Prudy sprang out of bed, convulsed with laughter, and lighted the gas;
whereupon Fly began to dance "Little Zephyrs," on the pillow, and
Dotty to declare her eyes were put out.
"Little try-patiences, both of them," thought Prudy; "but then they've
always had their own way, and what can you expect? I'm so glad I
wasn't born the youngest of the family; it does make children so
disagreeable!"
As soon as Dotty was fairly awake, her love for her friends came back
again, and her good humor with it. She made Fly bleat like a lamb and
spin like a top, and applauded her loudly.
"It's gl-orious to have you here, Fly Clifford. I wouldn't let you go in
any other room to sleep for anything."
Which shows that the same thing looked very different to Dotty after
she got her eyes open.
When the children went down to breakfast, they found bouquets of
flowers by their plates.
"I am delighted to see such happy faces." said Aunt Madge. "How
would you all like to go out by and by, and take the air?"

"We'd like it, auntie; and I'll tell you what would be prime," remarked
Horace, from his uncle's place at the head of the table; "and that is, to
take Fly to Stewart's, and have her go up in an elevator."
"Why couldn't I go up, too?" asked Dotty, with the slightest possible
shade of discontent in her voice. She did not mean to be jealous, but
she had noticed that Flyaway always came first with Horace, and if
there was anything hard for Dotty's patience, it was playing the part of
Number Two.
"We'll all go up," said Aunt Madge. "I've an idea of taking you over to
Brooklyn; and in that case we shan't come home before night."
"Carry our dinner in a basket?" suggested Dotty.
"O, no; we'll go into a restaurant, somewhere, and order whatever you
like."
"Will you, auntie? Well, there, I never went to such a place in my life,
only once; and then Percy Eastman, he just cried 'Fire!' and I broke the
saucer all to pieces."
"I've been to it a great many times," said Fly, catching part of Dotty's
meaning; "my mamma bakes 'em in a freezer."
At nine o'clock the party of five started out to see New York. Aunt
Madge and Horace walked first, with Flyaway between them. "We are
going out to take our airs," said the little one.
"I don't think you need any more," said Horace, looking fondly at his
pretty sister. "You're so airy now, it's as much as we can do to keep
your feet on the ground."
Flyaway wore a blue silk bonnet, with white lace around the face, a
blue dress and cloak, and pretty furs with a squirrel's head on the muff.
She had never been dressed so well before, and she knew it. She
remembered hearing "Phibby" say to "Tinka," "Don't that child look
like an angel?" Fly was sure she did, for big folks like Tinka must

know. But here her thoughts grew misty. All the angels she had ever
heard of were brother Harry and "the Charlie boy." How could she look
like them?
"Does God dress 'em in a cloak and bonnet, you s'pose?" asked she of
her own thoughts.
Prudy and Dotty Dimple wore frocks of black and red plaid, white
cloaks, and black hats with scarlet feathers. Horace was satisfied that a
finer group of children could not be found in the city.
"Aunt Madge and I have no reason to be ashamed of them, I am sure,"
thought he, taking out his new watch every few minutes, not because he
wished to show it, but for fear it was losing time.
"How I wish we had Grace and Susey here! and then I should have all
my nieces," said Aunt Madge. "Is it possible these are the same
children I used to see at Willowbrook? Here is my only nephew, that
drowned Prudy on a log, grown tall enough to offer me his arm. (Why,
Horace, your head is higher than mine!)