Folks mus'n't. If folks did, then the man
would come down out the chimley and tell the other bodies to carry 'em
home. 'Cause it's the holy Sabber-day,--and _that's_ what is it."
Flyaway's airy brain went dancing round and round. She slid away from
Horace's shoulder, spread her little length upon the seat, closed her
wondering, tired eyes, and sailed off to Noddle's Island. A fly,
buzzing in from out doors, had long been trying to settle on Flyaway's
restless nose. He never did settle: Horace kept guard with a palm-leaf
fan, and "all the other bodies" in the pew sat as still as if they had
been nailed down; so anxious were they to keep the little sleeper
safely harbored at Noddle's Island.
"Such a relief!" thought aunt Louise, venturing to look up once more.
Flyaway did not waken till the last prayer, when Horace held her fast,
lest she should make a sudden rush upon a speckled dog, which came
trotting up the aisle.
On the steps they met Ruth, with wild eyes and face tied up in a
scarf, hunting for Flyaway.
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