ng they rub over
their eyes, that gives 'em the appearance of being as blind as a bat."

Prudy looked up at Horace with admiration and respect. He spoke like a
person of deep wisdom and wide experience.

"We will see for ourselves what we think of the family," said Aunt
Madge.

"Now," said she, after they had ridden a mile or two, "we must get out
here, and walk a few blocks to the house. Fly, hold your brother's hand
tight."

"There's the chamer where the boy lives that says swear words; and
there's the boy, ahind the window."

"Have a free ride, little girl?" shouted Izzy Paul, laughing; for he
remembered faces as well as Fly did, and saw at once that it was the
same child he had frightened so the day before. But Fly never knew fear
where Horace was; she clung to him, and peeped out boldly between her
fingers.

When they went "down cellow," as she called it, into Mr. Brooks's house,
Aunt Madge was surprised to see how bare it looked. But Dotty Dimple
need not have held her skirts so tightly about her, and brushed her
elbow so carefully when it hit against the wall; for the house was as
clean as hands could make it.

"Mrs. Brooks, I hope you will forgive me for coming down upon you with
this little army," said Mrs. Allen, with such a cheery smile that the
sick man on the bed felt as if a flood of pure sunshine had burst into
the room. He was so tired of lying there, day after day, like a great
rag baby, and so glad to see anybody, especially the good lady who, his
wife said, was "so easy to talk to!"

"Auntie, look! see the freckled doggie; and there's my flowers, true's
you live," cried Flyaway.

"Yes, pa wanted them in a vial, close to his bed; it's the first he's
seen this winter," said Maria, stroking Fly as if she had been a kitten.

"You may be sure, little lady, it will be as I said; they'll cure me
full as quick as camphire. And, thank the Lord, I can see as well as
smell," said Mr. Brooks, with a tender glance at Maria which made
Horace feel ashamed of himself. The idea of that poor child's rubbing
anything into her eyes? Why, she looked like a wounded bird that had
been out in a storm. Her face was really almost beautiful, but so sad
that you could not see it without a feeling of pity.

"She looks as if she was walking in her sleep," thought Prudy, and
turned away to hide a tear; for somehow there was a chord in her heart
that thrilled strangely. That "slow winter" came back to her with a
rush,