Clifford; "but it wasn't much of a visit,--was
it, darling!--when you slept most of the time, and didn't have a
mouthful of dinner?"
Flyaway sighed heavily, and looked at her mother. "O, mamma! mamma!"
"What is it, dear?"
"O, mamma," repeated she, sorrowfully, "why did you say those words?"
"What words, darling?"
"Those naughty, naughty words, mamma." Flyaway's gentle eyes were
afloat. She crossed the room, and knelt by Mrs. Clifford's chair,
looking up at her with an expression of anguish.
"That man, he wasn't in the lions' den, that prayed so long and so
loud, mamma."
"Well, dear."
"_He_ telled a wrong story to me, mamma."
"My darling baby," said Mrs. Clifford, catching Flyaway in her arms,
"do you think your own dear mother is telling you a wrong story this
minute?"
"'Cause, 'cause, mamma, I didn't go to aunt Marfie's!"
"Yes, you did, my precious daughter; but you were asleep and dreaming.
We brought you home in the carriage, and you didn't know it. Can't you
believe it because I say so?"
Flyaway made no reply except to curl her head under Mrs.
Pages:
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112