"I am going to see that woman to-morrow, and ask some questions about her blind daughter," said Aunt Madge, turning away from the window.
"Ask 'bout her nose, too."
"Whose nose, Fly?"
"The woman's. It keeps a-moving when she talks."
"There, who else noticed that?" exclaimed Horace, tossing his young sister aloft. "It takes Fly, with her little eye, to see things."
"But I didn't ask her nuffin 'bout it, though, Horace Clifford. God made her so, with a wire in."
Everybody smiled at the notion of Mrs. Brooks being a wax doll.
"What a queer day it has been!" said Prudy. "Nothing but hide and seek. We'll all keep together next time, and lock hands tight."
"Of course," said Dotty, quickly; "but look here; don't you think 'twould be safer not to let Fly go with us? She was the one that made all the fuss."
"Want to know if she was," said Horace, slyly. "Guess there are two sides to that story."