"O, my shole!" sighed Flyaway, scowling at herself. She did not know how lovely she was, nor how
"The light of the heaven she came from
Still lingered and gleamed in her hair."
"I wisht 'twouldn't get out," said she.
"What do you mean by out?"
"O, unwetted, and un-comb-bid, and un-parted."
"That's because you fly about like such a little witch."
"I doesn't do the leastest nuffin, Dotty Dimpwill! Folks ought to let me to go to churches."
"I should laugh, Fly Clifford, to see you going to churches! All the ministers would come down out of the pulpits and ask what little mischief that was, and make aunt 'Ria carry you home!"
"No, he wouldn't, too! I'd sit stiller'n two, free, five hundred mouses," pleaded Flyaway, climbing up the back of a chair to show how quiet she could be.
"O, it's no use to talk about it, darling. Give me one kiss, and I'll go get my sun-shade."