“We’ll all go up,” said Aunt Madge.  “I’ve an idea of taking you over to Brooklyn; and in that case we shan’t come home before night.”

“Carry our dinner in a basket?” suggested Dotty.

“O, no; we’ll go into a restaurant, somewhere, and order whatever you like.”

“Will you, auntie?  Well, there, I never went to such a place in my life, only once; and then Percy Eastman, he just cried ‘Fire!’ and I broke the saucer all to pieces.”

“I’ve been to it a great many times,” said Fly, catching part of Dotty’s meaning; “my mamma bakes ’em in a freezer.”

At nine o’clock the party of five started out to see New York.  Aunt Madge and Horace walked first, with Flyaway between them.  “We are going out to take our airs,” said the little one.

“I don’t think you need any more,” said Horace, looking fondly at his pretty sister.  “You’re so airy now, it’s as much as we can do to keep your feet on the ground.”

Flyaway wore a blue silk bonnet, with white lace around the face, a blue dress and cloak, and pretty furs with a squirrel’s head on the muff.  She had never been dressed so well before, and she knew it.  She remembered hearing “Phibby” say to “Tinka,” “Don’t that child look like an angel?” Fly was sure she did, for big folks like Tinka must know.  But here her thoughts grew misty.  All the angels she had ever heard of were brother Harry and “the Charlie boy.”  How could she look like them?

“Does God dress ’em in a cloak and bonnet, you s’pose?” asked she of her own thoughts.

Prudy and Dotty Dimple wore frocks of black and red plaid, white cloaks, and black hats with scarlet feathers.  Horace was satisfied that a finer group of children could not be found in the city.

“Aunt Madge and I have no reason to be ashamed of them, I am sure,” thought he, taking out his new watch every few minutes, not because he wished to show it, but for fear it was losing time.

“How I wish we had Grace and Susey here! and then I should have all my nieces,” said Aunt Madge.  “Is it possible these are the same children I used to see at Willowbrook?  Here is my only nephew, that drowned Prudy on a log, grown tall enough to offer me his arm. (Why, Horace, your head is higher than mine!) Here is Prudy, who tried yesterday—­didn’t she?—­to go up to heaven on a ladder, almost a young lady.  Why, how old it makes me feel!”

“But you don’t look old,” said Dotty, consolingly; “you don’t look married any more than Aunt Louise?”

Here they took an omnibus, and the children interested themselves in watching the different people who sat near them.

“Aren’t you glad to come?” said Dotty.  “See that man getting out.  What is that little thing he’s switching himself with?”

“That’s a cane,” replied Horace.

“A cane?  Why, if Flyaway should lean on it, she’d break it in two.—­Prudy, look at that man in the corner; his cane is funnier than the other one.”