“Me and Horace?  Who could it have been?”

“He’s the major; his name is Lazelle.”

“O, I remember him,” said Grace and Horace together.  “Does he wear a wig?  He isn’t old at all.”

“He calls himself ‘an old mustache,’” returned Dotty, “for he said so to me.  He wears one of those hair-lips, and a wig.”

“And he’s as blind as a post?”

“O, no, he can see things now.  I liked him, for he gave me all the apples and peaches I could eat.”

“I reckon it did him good to go to the war,” exclaimed Horace, “for I remember, when I was a little fellow, how he boxed my ears!”

“He has suffered a great deal since then,” said the gentle Cassy, thoughtfully.  “You know people generally grow better by suffering.”

“Dotty dear, you can’t keep your eyes open,” said Grace, after the candy had been pulled.  “I don’t believe it will make you any better to suffer.  I’m going to put you to bed.”

“And here I am,” thought Dotty, as she laid her tired head on the pillow, “out West, under a sketo bar.  Got here safe.  I ought to have thanked God a little harder in my prayer.”

CHAPTER VII.

WAKING UP OUT WEST.

Dotty was wakened next morning by a variety of sounds.  The mocking-bird, the canary, the hens, and Horace’s guinea pig were astir, and wished their little world to be aware of it.  Flyaway was dressed and running about, making herself generally useful.

Before the tired young traveller knew where she was, a little hand was busy at the door knob, and a baby voice called out,—­

“Dottee, Dottee, is you waked up?”

“O, now I know where I am!  This is Aunt ’Ria’s house, and that little snip of a Flyaway is trying to get in.  O, dear, dear, how far off I am!  Prudy Parlin, I wonder if you’re thinking about me?”

“Dottee!  Dottee!” called the small voice again.

“O, I s’pose that baby’ll stand at the door all day.”

But just then the knob turned, and in rushed Flyaway out of breath.

“Good-morning, Miss Topknot,” said Dotty, addressing her by one of the dove-names Horace was so fond of using.

“O, I’s pitty well,” replied Flyaway, dancing across the room.  “I didn’t sleep any till las’ night.  I d’eamed awtul d’eams; so I kep’ awake, and wouldn’t go to sleep.”

And into bed climbed the little one, laying her head, with its tangled floss, right across Dotty’s face.

“Dear me!” sighed Dotty, rubbing the floss out of her eyes.  “Such hair!  I should think you wore a wig!  I’m sleepy; can’t you let me be?”

“You mus’ wake up, Dottee! I love to wake up; I can do it velly easy.”

Dotty, losing her patience, moved forward, pushing Katie towards the edge of the bed.

“O, ho! what a little bedstick!  I’ll yole out!”

“I wish you would, Flyaway Clifford!”