Jump in, Flyaway, and finish your ride."
"No-o," said Flyaway, wavering between her fear of the cow, some yards
ahead, and her fear of the rocking, unsteady wheelbarrow. "Guess I
won't get in no more, Prudy; it wearies me."
"Wearies you?"
"Yes: don't you know what 'wearies' means, Prudy? It means it makes me
a--a--little--scared!"
And in her "weariness" Flyaway nestled between her two cousins, and
kept fast hold of their skirts till the cow was safely passed and the
red store reached.
"Bravo!" exclaimed Mr. Bradley, the merchant, as he came out and
dragged the rag-bag into the store; "so you've taken the business into
your own hands, my little women? Ah, this is a progressive age! Walk
in--walk in."
Prudy blushed, Dotty smiled, and Flyaway took off her hat, as she
usually did when she did not know what else to do.
"Take some seats, young ladies," said Mr. Bradley, placing three
chairs in a row, and bowing as if to the most distinguished visitors.
Two or three men, who were lounging about the counter, looked on with
a smile.
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