"I'm tired out and sleepy out," wailed the young traveller, the tears
rolling over the rims of her "spetty-curls,"--"all sleepy out; and I
can't get rested 'thout--my--muvver!"
She sat down and hid her head in her black dolly's bosom.
"Diny, you got some ears? We wasn't here by-fore!"
This was all the way she had of saying she was lost.
The sky suddenly grew dark; a shower was coming up.
"Where has the bwight sun gone?" said Flyaway, with a shudder.
She was answered by a peal of thunder,--wagon-wheels, she supposed.
"Here I is!" shouted she.
Some one had come for her. Perhaps it was Charlie, and they meant to
give her a ride up to heaven. A flash of light, and then another
crash. Flyaway understood it then. It was logs. People were rolling
logs up in the sky, on the blue floor. She had seen logs in a mill.
Such a noise!
Then she dropped fast asleep, and somebody came right down out of the
clouds and gave her a peach turnover as big as a dinner basket, or so
she thought. Just as she was about to cut it, she was awakened by the
rain dripping into her eyes.
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