Uncle John took her on his knee, asked her what her name was, where
she lived, and whom she loved best; but she only answered she "didn't
know." She might have been Daniel in the lions' den, or Joseph in the
pit, for all the difference to her.
"How very singular!" said aunt Martha. "I wish her mother would come.
Do feel her pulse, John, and see if it is fever."
"Nothing of the kind," said uncle John, as the little one's head
dropped on his shoulder. "Overcome by the heat; that's all. I'll just
lay her down on the sofa."
When Mrs. Clifford came, she was surprised to find the child fast
asleep. She would not have her wakened for dinner; so Flyaway missed
her "secretary." But when it was three o'clock, and she still slept,
Mrs. Clifford feared something was wrong, and decided to take her
home. Uncle John had "Lightning Dodger" harnessed, and brought around
to the door.
"Wake up, little daughter," said Mrs. Clifford; "we are going home
now."
Flyaway looked around vacantly, her eyes as heavy as drenched violets.
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