"They shan't scold at my cunning little Topknot," whispered Horace,
consolingly. "Sit still, darling, and when we get home I'll give you a
cent."
"Yes um, I will," replied poor brow-beaten Flyaway, and held up her
head again with the best of them. Perhaps she had been naughty;
perhaps folks were going to snip her fingers; but "Hollis" was on her
side now and forever. She began to feel quite contented. She had got
inside the church at last, and was very well pleased with it. It was
even queerer than she had expected.
"What was that high-up thing the prayer-man was a-standin' on?"
Flyaway merely asked this of her own wise little brain. She concluded
it must be "a chimley."
"Great red curtains ahind him," added she, still conversing with her
own little brain. "Lots o' great big bubbles on the walls all round.
Big's a tea-kiddle! Lamps, I s'pose. There's that table. Where's the
cups and saucers for the supper? And the tea-pot?
"All the bodies everywhere had their bonnets on; why for? Didn't say a
word, and the prayer-man kep' a-talkin' all the time; why for? Flywer
didn't talk; no indeed.
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