wounded family pride, "_Should_ you think
grandma would allow it?" Out in the street the young rag-merchants
were greeted by a cow lowing dismally. Flyaway, in her rustic
carriage, felt as secure as the fabled "kid on the roof of a house;"
so she called out, "Don't cry, old cow; I 'shamed o' you."

At this Prudy and Dotty laughed harder than ever.

"'Sh right up, old cow," said Flyaway, standing on her "tipsy-toes,"
and making a threatening gesture with her little arms; "'Sh right
up!--O, why don't that cow mind in a minute?"

In her earnestness the little girl pushed the bag to one side, and
Prudy and Dotty, shaking with laughter, tipped over the wheelbarrow.
No harm was done except to give Flyaway a dust-bath in her nice clean
frock. Just as they were struggling with the bag, to get it in again,
they were overtaken by a droll-looking equipage. It was a long house
on wheels, and instantly reminded Dotty of Noah's ark.

"O, a house a-ridin'! a house a-ridin'!" exclaimed Flyaway, gazing
after it with the greatest astonishment.

Dotty thought the world was going topsy-turvy. She looked at the trees
to see if they stood fast in the ground. But Prudy explained it as
soon as she could stop laughing.

"Only a photograph saloon," said she. "Didn't you ever see one before?
We don't have them in the city going round so, but things are
different in the country. Let's watch and see where it stops."

"O, dear me," said Dotty; "I shouldn't want to live in a house that
couldn't stand still! Stove tipping over, and the gingerbread falling
out of the oven! There, I declare!"

The look of wonder on Dotty's face was so amusing that Prudy was
obliged to hold on to her sides.

"There, look!" said she; "it has stopped down by the corner. Now the
man can bake his gingerbread if he wants to, and the stove won't tip
over. Jump in, Flyaway, and finish your ride."

"No-o," said Flyaway, wavering between her fear of the cow, some yards
ahead, and her fear of the rocking, unsteady wheelbarrow. "Guess I
won't get in no more, Prudy; it wearies me."

"Wearies you?"

"Yes: don't you know what 'wearies' means, Prudy? It means it makes me
a--a--little--scared!"

And in her "weariness" Flyaway nestled between her two cousins, and
kept fast hold of their skirts till the cow was safely passed and the
red store reached.

"Bravo!" exclaimed Mr. Bradley, the merchant, as he came out and
dragged the rag-bag into the store; "so you've taken th