"I shouldn't think folks would call 'em names, Hollis, when they never did a thing to you. Nothing but clean white mouses!"
"Let's see; now I look at 'em, Topknot, they are white. And what's all this paper?"
"Bed-kilts."
"In-deed?"
"You knew it by-fore!"
"One, two, three; I thought the doctor gave you five. Where are they gone?"
"Well, there hasn't but two died; the rest'll live," said Fly, swinging one of them around by its tail, as if it had been a tame cherry.
Just then Grace came and stood in the parlor doorway.
"O, fie!" said she; "what work! Ma doesn't allow that cage in the parlor. You just carry it out, Fly Clifford."
Miss Thistledown Flyaway looked up at her sister shyly, out of the corners of her eyes. Grace was now a beautiful young lady of sixteen, and almost as tall as her mother. Flyaway adored her, but there was a growing doubt in her mind whether sister Grace had a right to use the tone of command.