"If I's Gracie," said she, severely, "I'd make aprons; if I's mamma I'd sew dresses; if I's Flywer, I'd do just's I want to."
And then she went on sewing; without any thimble.
"Girls, have you guessed yet why a wheelbarrow is like a potato?"
"No, Horace; why is it?"
"O, I was in hopes you could tell. I don't know, I am sure. It is as much as I can do to make up a conundrum, without finding out the answer."
The children laughed at this, but none of them so loud as Flyaway, who thought her brother the wisest, wittiest, and noblest specimen of boyhood that ever lived.
"How our needles do fly!" said Dotty, merrily.
She was a neat and swift little seamstress, even superior to Prudy.
"See," said Flyaway to Horace; "I work faster 'n my mamma, 'cause she's got a big dress to work on: of course she can't sew so quick as I can on a little bag."
"Prudy can sew better and faster than I can," said Dotty, with a sudden gush of humility.