"
"They shan't bother my little Topknot," said Horace, with a sweep of
his thumb. "She is going to have all my clothes to make bags of, when
she grows up."
Flyaway, who knew she had a good right to the ribbon, pressed her
eyelids together slowly.
"If I's Gracie," said she, severely, "I'd make aprons; if I's mamma
I'd sew dresses; if I's Flywer, I'd do just's I want to."
And then she went on sewing; without any thimble.
"Girls, have you guessed yet why a wheelbarrow is like a potato?"
"No, Horace; why is it?"
"O, I was in hopes you could tell. I don't know, I am sure. It is as
much as I can do to make up a conundrum, without finding out the
answer."
The children laughed at this, but none of them so loud as Flyaway,
who thought her brother the wisest, wittiest, and noblest specimen of
boyhood that ever lived.
"How our needles do fly!" said Dotty, merrily.
She was a neat and swift little seamstress, even superior to Prudy.
"See," said Flyaway to Horace; "I work faster 'n my mamma, 'cause she's
got a big dress to work on: of course she can't sew so quick as I can
on a little bag.
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