“O, but they won’t; they’ll only laugh.”

“Very true, Dotty; but I dare say she never thought of that till this little child told her.”

“Fly,” said Horace, “You are doing a great deal of good going round hurting folks’ feelings.”

“Poor woman!” said Aunt Madge, with a pitying smile; “she might comfort herself by trying to make her soul beautiful.”

“That would be altogether the best plan,” said Horace, aside to Prudy; “she can’t do much with her body, that’s a fact; it’s too dried up.”

All this while they were passing elegant shops, and Aunt Madge let the children pause as long as they liked before the windows, to admire the beautiful things.

“Whose little grampa is that?” cried Fly, pointing to a Santa Claus standing on the pavement and holding out his hands with a very pleasant smile; “he’s all covered with a snow-storm.”

“He isn’t alive,” said Dotty; “and the snow is only painted on his coat in little dots.”

“Well, I didn’t spect he was alive, Dotty Dimple, only but he made believe he was.  And O, see that hossy! he’s dead, too, but he looks as if you could ride on him.”

“This other window is the handsomest, Fly; don’t I wish I had some of those beautiful dripping, red ear-rings?”

“Why, little sister,” said Prudy, “I’d as soon think of wanting a gold nose as those cat-tail ear-rings.  What would Grandma Read say?”

“Why, she’d say ‘thee’ and ‘thou,’ I s’pose, and ask me if I called ’em the ornaments of meek and quiet spirits,” said Dotty, with a slight curl of the lip.  “Auntie, is it wicked to wear jewels, if your grandma’s a Quaker?”

“I think not; that is, if somebody should give you a pair; but I hope somebody never will.  It is a mere matter of taste, however.  O, children, now I think of it, I’ll give you each a little pin-money to spend, to-day, just as you like.  A dollar each to Prudy and Dotty; and, Horace, here is fifty cents for Flyaway.”

“O, you darling auntie!” cried the little Parlins, in a breath.  Dotty shut this, the largest bill she had ever owned, into her red porte-monnaie, feeling sure she should never want for anything again that money can buy.

“There, now, Hollis,” said Fly, drawing her mouth down and her eyebrows up, “where’s my skipt? my skipt?”

“What?  A little snip like you mustn’t have money,” answered Horace, carelessly; “auntie gave it to me.”

The moment he had spoken the words, he was sorry, for the child was too young and sensitive to be trifled with.  She never doubted that her great cruel brother had robbed her.  It was too much.  Her “dove’s eyes” shot fire.  Flyaway could be terribly angry, and her anger was “as quick as a chain o’ lightning.”  Before any one had time to think twice, she had turned on her little heel, and was running away.  With one impulse the whole party turned and followed.

“Prudy and I haven’t breath enough to run,” said Aunt Madge.  “Here we are at Stewart’s.  You’ll find us in the rotunda, Horace.  Come back here with Fly, as soon as you have caught her.”