As soon as he had caught her!

They were on Broadway, which was lined with people, moving to and fro.  Horace and Dotty had to push their way through the crowd, while little Fly seemed to float like a creature of air.

“Stop, Fly!  Stop, Fly!” cried Horace; but that only added speed to her wings.

“She’s like a piece of thistle-down,” laughed Horace; “when you get near her you blow her away.”

“Stop, O, stop,” cried Dotty; “Horace was only in fun.  Don’t run away from us, Fly.”

But by this time the child was so far off that the words were lost in the din.

“Why, where is she?  I don’t see her,” exclaimed Horace, as the little blue figure suddenly vanished, like a puff of smoke.  “Did she cross the street?”

“I don’t know, Horace.  O, dear, I don’t know.”

It was the first time a fear had entered either of their minds.  Knowing very little of the danger of large cities, they had not dreamed that the foolish little Fly might get caught in some dreadful spider’s web.

CHAPTER V.

DOTTY HAVING HER OWN WAY.

Yes, Fly was out of sight; that was certain.  Whether she had turned to the right, or to the left, or had merely gone straight on, fallen down, and been trampled on, that was the question.  How was one to find out?  People enough to inquire of, but nobody to answer.

Horace had as many thoughts as a drowning man.  How had he ever dared bring such a will-o’-the-wisp away from home?  How had his mother consented to let him?  His father had charged him, over and over, not to let go Fly’s hand in the street.  That did very well to talk about; but what could you do with a child that wasn’t made of flesh and blood, but the very lightest kind of gas?

“Dotty, turn down this street, and I’ll keep on up Broadway.  No—­no; you’d get lost.  What shall we do?  Go just where I do, as hard as you can run, and don’t lose sight of me.”

Dotty began to pant.  She could not keep on at this rate of speed, and Horace saw it.

“You’ll have to go back to Stewart’s.”

“Where’s Stewart’s?” gasped Dotty, still running.

“Why, that stone building on Tenth Street, with blue curtains, where we left auntie.”

“I don’t know anything about Tenth Street or blue curtains.”

“But you’ll know it when you get there.  Just cross over—­”

“O, Horace Clifford, I can’t cross over!  There’s horses and carriages every minute; and my mother made me almost promise I wouldn’t ever cross over.”

“There are plenty of policemen, Dotty; they’ll take you by the shoulder—­”

“O, Horace Clifford, they shan’t take me by the shoulder!  S’pose I want ’em marching me off to the lockup?” screamed Dotty, who believed the lockup was the chief end and aim of policemen.

“Well, then, I don’t know anything what to do with you,” said Horace, in despair.