"Flirting?" said Ralph.
"Yes."
"I never flirt."
"No, never!"
"There, you are getting ironical—you fly off from—"
"The subject, I suppose—like that flying squirrel yonder—look!"
Indeed, a mottled little animal, of the description mentioned, had darted from the tulip toward a large oak, and falling as he flew—which we believe characterizes the flight of this squirrel—had lit upon the oak near the root, and run rapidly up the trunk.
"Did you ever!" cried Fanny.
"I don't recollect," said Ralph.
"Why how can he fly?"