"'Cause—'cause—'cause," cried the little one, in great alarm; "you won't shut me up, 'cause I won't never walk away no more, gamma Parlin!"
Mrs. Parlin tried hard not to smile; but the mixture on Flyaway's little face of naughtiness, jelly, and fright, was very funny to see.
The child noticed that her grandmother's brows knit as if in displeasure, and then she remembered the jelly.
"I hasn't been a-touchin' your 'serves, gamma," said she.
Mrs. Parlin really did not know what to do,—Flyaway's conscience was so little and folded away in so many thicknesses, like a tiny pearl in a whole box of cotton wool. How could anybody get at it?
"Gamma, I hasn't been a-touchin' your 'serves," repeated the little thief.
"Ah, don't tell me that," said grandma, sadly; "I see it in your eye!"
"What, gamma, the 'serves in my eye?" said Flyaway, putting up her finger to find out for herself. "'Cause I put 'em in my mouf, I did."
Mrs. Parlin washed the little pilferer's face and hands, took her in her lap, and tried to feel her way through the cotton wool to the tiny conscience.
The child looked up and listened to all the good words, and when they had been spoken over and over, this was what she said:—