"It won't _muse_ no more," said Flyaway, in sad surprise, blowing into
the keys in vain. Ruth loved the little child too well to say she was
glad of it.
Flyaway's next dash was into the sink cupboard, where she found a
wooden bowl of sand. This she dragged out, and filling her "nipperkin"
with water, carried them both to Ruth, saying, in her sweet, pleading
way,--
"_If_ you please, Ruthie, will you tell _how_ God does when he takes
the 'little drops of water and little grains of sand,' and makes 'the
mighty _oshum_' with um, '_and_ the pleasant land'?"
Ruthie had no answer but a kiss and a smile.
"There, away with you into the nursery, both of you. I know Polly
Whiting is lonesome without you."
Off went the children, Flyaway "with a heart for any fate," but Dotty
still oppressed by the shadow of the ten-cent piece.
"If I don't give it to Prudy, will I be dishonest? Will I be as bad
as Jennie Vance?"
When they entered the nursery, Miss Polly was standing before the
mirror, arranging her black cap, and weaving into her collar a square
black breast-pin, which aunt Louise said looked like a gravestone.
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