"What an idea! And your hair is just as fine as ever it was; the color of my ring—isn't it, Prudy?"
Flyaway put her little hand to her head, and felt the floss flying about as usual.
"My hair comes all to pieces," explained she; "or nelse I have a ribbon to tie it up with."
"Are you glad to come back to Willowbrook, you precious little dear?" asked two or three voices.
"Yes 'm," said Flyaway, doubtfully; "Y—es—um."
"She doesn't remember anything about it, I guess," said Prudy, kneeling before the little one, and kissing the sweet place in her neck.
"Yes, I do," said Flyaway, winking hard and breathing quick in the effort to recall the very dim and very distant past; "yes, I 'member."
"Well, what do you 'member?"
"O, once I was grindin' coffee out there in a yellow chair, and somebody she came and put me in the sink."
"She does know—doesn't she?" said Dotty. "That was Ruthie; come out in the kitchen and see her."