e she came from Indiana. She put her fingers in her mouth, then took
them out, and put them in her pocket.

"Here's my porte-monnaie-ry," said she, dolefully; "but I haven't but
two cents--no more. Hollis carried it off."

"Well, well, run along, then. Don't you see you're right in the way?"

Fly was surprised and grieved at the change in the man's tone: she had
expected he would pity her for not having any money.

"Come here, you little lump of love," called out a mellow voice; and
there, close by, sat a wizened old woman, making flowers into nosegays.
She had on a quilted hood as soft as her voice, but everything else
about her was as hard as the door-stone she sat on.

"See my beautiful flowers," said the old crone, pointing to the table
before her; "who cares for them jumping things over yonder? I don't."

The flowers were tied in bouquets--sweet violets, rosebuds, and
heliotrope. Fly, whose head just reached the top of the table, smelt
them, and forgot the "little husband, for fifteen cents."

"He's a cross man, dearie," said the old woman, lowering her voice, "or
he wouldn't have sent you off so quick, just because you hadn't any
money. Now, I love little girls, and I'll warrant we can make some kind
of a trade for one of my posies."

Fly smiled, and quickly seized a bouquet with a clove pink in it.

"Not so fast, child! What you got that you can give me for it? I don't
mind the money. That old pocket-book will do, though 'tain't wuth much."

It was very surprising to Fly to hear her port-monnaie called old; for
it was bought last week, and was still as red as the cheeks of the
painted lady.

"I don't _dass_ to give folks my porte-monnaie-ry," said she, clutching
it tighter, but holding the flowers to her nose all the while.

"O, fudge! Well, what else you got in your pocket? A handkerchief?"

"No, my hangerfiss is in my muff."

"That? Why, there isn't a speck o' lace on it. Nice little ladies always
has lace. Here's a letter in the corner; what is it?"

"Hollis says it's K; stands for Flyaway."

"Well, you're such a pretty little pink, I guess I'll take it; but
'tain't wuth lookin' at," said the crafty old woman, who saw at a glance
it was pure linen, and quite fine.

"Now run along, baby; your mummer will be waitin' for you."

Fly walked on slowly. Ought she to have parted with her very best
hangerfiss!

"Nice ole lady, loved little gee-urls; but what you s'pose folks was
goin' to cry into