But the bud did not wish to wake up and be a rose; it curled itself together, and went to sleep again.

“I don’t see where Hollis stays to all the time,” exclaimed the little one, beginning to have a faint curiosity about it.

CHAPTER VIII.

“THE FRECKLED DOG.”

But just then a gentle-looking blind girl came along led by a dog.  The sight was so strange that Flyaway stopped to admire; for whatever else she might be afraid of, she always loved and trusted a dog.

“Doggie, doggie,” cried she, patting the little animal’s head.

“O, what a sweet voice,” said the blind girl, putting out her hand and groping till she touched Fly’s shoulder.  “I never heard such a voice!”

This was what strangers often said, and Flyaway never doubted the sweetness was caused by eating so much candy; but just now she had had none for two days.

“What makes you shut your eyes up, right in the street, girl?  Is the seeingness all gone out of ’em?”

“Yes, you darling.  I haven’t had any seeingness in my eyes for a year.”

“You didn’t?  Then you’s blind-eyed,” returned Flyaway, with perfect coolness.

“And don’t you feel sorry for me—­not a bit?”

“No, ’cause your dog is freckled so pretty.”

“But I can’t see his freckles.”

“Well, he’s got ’em.  Little yellow ones, spattered out all over him.”

“But if I had eyes like you, I shouldn’t need any dog.  I could go about the streets alone.”

“Well, I don’t like to go ’bout the streets alone; I want my own brother Hollis.”

“I hope you haven’t got lost, little dear?”

“No,” laughed Fly, gayly; “I didn’t get lost!  But I don’t know where nobody is!  And there don’t nobody know where I am!”

The blind girl took Fly’s little hand tenderly in hers.

“Come, turn down this street with me, and tell me all about it.”

Fly trudged along, prattling merrily, for about a minute:  then she drew away. “’Tisn’t a nice place; I don’t want to go there.”

A look of pain crossed the blind girl’s face.

“No, I dare say you don’t.  It isn’t much of a place for folks with silk bonnets on.”

“You can’t see my bonnet; you can’t see anything, you’re blind-eyed; but,” said Fly, glancing sharply around, “it isn’t pretty here, at all; and there’s a dead cat right in the street.”

“Yes, I think likely.”

“And there’s a boy.  I spect he frowed the cat out the window; he hasn’t nuffin on but dirty cloe’s.”

“Do you see some steps?” said the blind girl, putting her hand out cautiously.  “Don’t fall down.”

“I shan’t fall down; I’m going home.”

“O, don’t child; you must come with me.  My mother will take care of you.”

“I don’t want nobody’s mother to take ‘are o’ me; I’ve got a mamma myself!”