"O, no," put in Dotty; "it wasn't whiskey, it was either; and I didn't know much more than you did, Fly Clifford. That was why I lost your money, Prudy; I just about know it was."
Flyaway began to understand. The look of fear and distrust went out of her eyes, and she threw her arms round her mother's neck, kissing her again and again.
"'Haps I did go to aunt Marfie's, mamma; 'haps I was asleep!"
"That's right, Miss Topknot," cried Horace; "now your brother'll carry you pickaback."
A little while afterward Mrs. Clifford began a letter to her husband.
"I am going to tell papa about his little girl—that she is very well."
"O, no, you needn't, mamma," said Flyaway, laughing; "papa knows it. I was well at home."
"What shall I tell him, then?"
Flyaway thought a moment.
"Tell him all the folks doesn't tell lies," said she, earnestly; "only but the naughty folks tells lies."