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 do."

"Well, I like 'em," said Flyaway, nothing daunted. "You knew it byfore; 'n if you didn't want Flipperty, you'd ought to not come!"

Horace laughed, as he always did when his little sister tried her power over him. The conductor was an old acquaintance, and he told him how it stood with Flipperty, how she was needed at New York, and all that; whereupon Mr. Van Dusen gave Fly a little green card, and told her to keep it to show to all the conductors on the road; for it was a free pass, and would take Flipperty all over the United States.

"Yes, sir, if you please," said Fly, with a blush and a smile, and put the "free pass" in Miss Flop's cloak pocket.

After this, she never once failed to show it, whenever Mr. Van Dusen, or any other conductor, came near, but always had to hunt for it, and once brought up a cookie instead, which fearful mistake mortified her to the depths of her soul.

Horace was sure all eyes were fixed on his charming little charge, and was proud of the honor of showing her off; but he paid for it dearly; it cost him more than his Latin, with all the irregular verbs. There was no such thing as her being comfortable. She was full of care about him, herself, and the baggage. Flipperty lost off a rubber boot, which bounced over into the next seat. Horace had to ask a gentleman and his sick daughter to move, and, after all, it was in an old lady's lap.

Then Fly's feet were cold, and Horace took her to the stove; but that made her eyes too hot, and she danced back, to lie with her head on his breast and her feet against the window, till she suddenly whirled straight about, and planted her tiny boots under his chin.

"O, Topknot, Topknot, I pity that woman with the baby, if she feels as lame all over as I do!"

"Where's the baby, Hollis? O, I see."

"What's the matter, now? Why upon earth can't you sit still, child?" said Horace, next minute, catching her as she was darting into the aisle, dragging Miss Flop by the hair of the head.

"O, Hollis, don't you see there's a dolly over there, with two girls and a lady with red clo'es on? 'Haps they'd be willing for her to get 'quainted with Flipperty?"

"Well, Topknot, 'haps they would, but 'haps I wouldn't. I can't have you dancing all over the car, in this style."

Flyaways's lip quivered, and a tear started. Horace was moved. One of Fly's tears weighed a pound with him, even when it only wet her eyelashes, and wasn't heavy enough to drop.

"Well, there, darling, you just sit still,—not still enough, though, to give you a pain (Fly always said it gave her a pain to sit still),—and I'll bring the girls and dollie over here to you. Will that do?"

Fly thought it would.

A dreadful fit of bashfulness came over Horace, when he stood face to face with the black-eyed lady and her daughters, and tried to speak.

"I've got a little girl travelling with me, ma'am; she's so—so uneasy, that I don't know what to do with her. Will you let me take—I mean, are you willing—"

"Bring her over here, and we will try to amuse her," said the black-eyed lady, pleasantly; but Horace was sure he saw the oldest girl laughing at him.

"It's no fun to go and make a fool of yourself," thought he, leading Fly to the new acquaintances, and standing by as she settled herself shyly in the seat.

"How do you do, little one? What is your name?—Flyaway?—Well, you look like it. We saw you were a darling, clear across the aisle. And you have a kind brother, I know."

At these words Fly, for want of some answer to make, sprang forward and kissed Horace on the bridge of the nose.

"There, you've knocked off my cap."

In stooping to pick it up, he awkwardly hit his head against the older girl, who already looked so mischievous that he was rather afraid of her.

"Wish I could get out of the way. She expects me to speak, but I shan't.

Horace was obliged to stand, very ill at ease, till the black-eyed lady had found out where he lived, who his father was, and what was his mother's name before she was married.

"Tell your father, when you go home, you have seen Mrs. Bonnycastle, formerly Ann Jones, and give him my regards. I knew he married a lady from Maine."

"I know sumpin," struck in Fly; "if ever I marry anybody, I'll marry my own brother Hollis. I mean if I don't be a ole maid!"

"And what is 'a ole maid,' you little witch?"

"I don' know; some folks is," was the wise reply. Flyaway was about to add "Gampa Clifford," but did not feel well enough acquainted to talk of family matters.

When the Bonnycastles left, at Cleveland, Horace thought that was the last of them. Miss Gerty was "decent-looking, looked some like Cassy Hallock; but he couldn't bear to see folks giggle; hoped he never should set eyes on those people again." Whether he ever did, you shall hear one of these days.

"O, Topknot," said he, "your hair looks like a mop. Do you want all creation laughing at you? You'll mortify me to death."

"You ought to water it. If you don't take better care o' your little sister, I won't never ride with you no more, Hollis Clifford!"

"Well, see that you don't, you little scarecrow," said the suffering boy, out of all patience. "If you are going to act in New York as you have on the road, I wish I was well out of this scrape."

Flyaway was really a sight to behold. How she managed to tear her dress off the waist, and loose five boot buttons, and last, but not least, the very hat she wore on her head, would have been a mystery if you hadn't seen her run.

When they reached the city, Horace put the soft, flying locks in as good order as he could, and tied them up in his handkerchief.

"I wisht I hadn't come," whined Fly; "I don't want to wear a hangerfiss; 'tisn't speckerble!"

"Hush right up! I'm not going to have you get cold!—My sorrows! Shan't I be thankful when I get where there's a woman to take care of her?"

On the platform at the depot, aunt Madge, Prudy, and Dotty Dimple, were waiting for them. A hearty laugh went the rounds, which Fly thought was decidedly silly. Aunt Madge took the young travellers right into her arms, and hugged them in her own cordial style, as if her heart had been hungry for them for many a day.

"We're so glad!—for it did seem as if you'd never come," exclaimed Dotty Dimple.

"And I'd like to know," said Horace, "how you happened to get here first."

"O, we came by express—came yesterday."

"By 'spress?" cried Flyaway, pulling away from aunt Madge, who was trying to pin her frock together; "we came by a 'ductor.—Why, where's Flipperty's ticket?"

Horace seized Prudy with one hand, and Dotty Dimple with the other, turning them round and round.

"I don't see anything of the express mark, 'Handle with care.' What has become of it?"

"O, we were done up in brown paper," said Prudy, laughing, "and the express mark was on that; but aunt Madge took it off as soon as she got the packages home."

"Why, what a story, Prudy Parlin! We didn't have a speck of brown paper round us. Just cloaks and hats with feathers in!"

Dotty spoke with some irritation. She had all along been rather sensitive about being sent by express, and could not bear any allusion to the subject.

"There, that's Miss Dimple herself. Let me shake hands with your Dimpleship! Didn't come to New York to take a joke,—did you?"

"No, her Dimpleship came to New York to get warm," said Peacemaker Prudy; "and so did I, too. You don't know how cold it is in Maine."

By this time they were rattling over the stones in their aunt's elegant carriage. It was dusk; the lamps were lighted, the streets crowded with people, the shops blazing with gay colors.

"I didn't come here to get warm, either," said Dotty, determined to have the last word: "I was warm enough in Portland. I s'pose we've got a furnace,—haven't we?—and a coal grate, too."

"I do hope Horace hasnt't got her started in a contrary fit," thought Prudy; "I brought her all the way from home without her saying a cross word."

But aunt Madge had a witch's broom, to sweep cobwebs out of the sky. Putting her arm around Dotty, she said,—

"You all came to bring sunshine into my house; bless your happy hearts."

That cleared Dotty's sky, and she put up her lips for a kiss; while Flyaway, with her "hangerfiss" on, danced about the carriage like a fly in a bottle, kissing everybody, and Horace twice over.

"'Cause I spect we've got there. But, Hollis," said she, with the comical shade of care which so often flitted across her little face, "you never put the trunk in here. Now that 'ductor has gone and carried off my nightie."