d she.

Mrs. Parlin really did not know what to do,--Flyaway's conscience was
_so_ little and folded away in so many thicknesses, like a tiny pearl
in a whole box of cotton wool. How could anybody get at it?

"Gamma, I hasn't been a-touchin' your 'serves," repeated the little
thief.

"Ah, don't tell me that," said grandma, sadly; "I see it in your eye!"

"What, gamma, the _'serves_ in my eye?" said Flyaway, putting up her
finger to find out for herself. "'Cause I put 'em in my _mouf_, I
did."

Mrs. Parlin washed the little pilferer's face and hands, took her in
her lap, and tried to feel her way through the cotton wool to the tiny
conscience.

The child looked up and listened to all the good words, and when they
had been spoken over and over, this was what she said:--

"O, gamma, you's got such pitty little wrinkles!"

CHAPTER III.

RUNNING AWAY TO HEAVEN.

About ten o'clock one morning, Flyaway was sitting in the little green
chamber with Dotty Dimple and Jennie Vance, bathing her doll's feet in
a glass of water. Dinah had a dreadful headache, and her forehead was
bandaged with a red ribbon.

"_Does_ you feel any better?" asked Flyaway, tenderly, from time to
time; but Dinah had such a habit of never answering, that it was of no
use to ask her any questions.

Dotty Dimple and Jennie were talking very earnestly.

"I do wish I did know where Charlie Gray is!" said Dotty, looking
through the open window at a bird flying far aloft into the blue sky.

"You do know," answered Jennie, quickly; "he's in heaven."

"Yes, of course; but so high up--O, so high up," sighed Dotty, "it
makes you dizzy to think."

"Can um see we?" struck in little Flyaway, holding to Dinah's flat
nose a bottle of reviving soap suds.

"Prudy says it's beautiful to be dead," added Dotty, without heeding
the question; "beautiful to be dead."

"Shtop!" cried Flyaway; "I's a-talkin'. Does um see _we_?"

"O, I don' know, Fly Clifford; you'll have to ask the minister."

Flyaway squeezed the water from Dinah's ragged feet, and dropped her
under the table, headache and all. Then she tipped over the goblet,
and flew to the window.

"The Charlie boy likes canny seeds; I'll send him some," said she,
pinning a paper of sugared spices to the window curtain, and drawing
it up by means of the tassel. "O, dear, um don't go high enough.
Charlie won't get 'em."

"Why, what is that baby trying to do?" said Dotty Dimple.

"Charlie's