"Here, put your hands down in your lap."
Up went the little hands to the flossy hair. "It won't stay, Prudy, or nelse you tie it."
"I shall brush it, the very last minute, Flyaway. All you must do is sit still. Mayn't she look at your watch, sir, just to keep her eyes from moving?"
"No matter what she looks at," replied the artist; "but she must keep that little head of hers straight."
His tone was firm; he hoped to awe her into quietness. Flyaway was frightened, and clung to Prudy for protection. "Don't the gemplum love little gee—urls?" said she, in a voice as low and sad as a dying dove's.
Mr. Poindexter laughed, and stroked the beautiful floss lovingly.
"Just turn your sweet little face this way, dear child; that's all."
"O, my shole! Must I turn my face to my back!" said Flyaway, bewildered.
"No, no; look at this picture on the wall. See what it is, so you can tell your mother."
"It's a bridge, and a man, and a fish," said Flyaway, flashing a glance at it.