But nothing of the sort came to pass. Here she was, without any heaven or any mother; and the great yellow sun was creeping fast down the sky.
"I'm tired out and sleepy out," wailed the young traveller, the tears rolling over the rims of her "spetty-curls,"—"all sleepy out; and I can't get rested 'thout—my—muvver!"
She sat down and hid her head in her black dolly's bosom.
"Diny, you got some ears? We wasn't here by-fore!"
This was all the way she had of saying she was lost.
The sky suddenly grew dark; a shower was coming up.
"Where has the bwight sun gone?" said Flyaway, with a shudder.
She was answered by a peal of thunder,—wagon-wheels, she supposed.
"Here I is!" shouted she.
Some one had come for her. Perhaps it was Charlie, and they meant to give her a ride up to heaven. A flash of light, and then another crash. Flyaway understood it then. It was logs. People were rolling logs up in the sky, on the blue floor. She had seen logs in a mill. Such a noise!