ty?"

"O, there was a man wore one in the cars; it looked just like anybody's
hair, only he tied it on with a button. He knew you and Horace."

"Me and Horace? Who could it have been?"

"He's the major; his name is Lazelle."

"O, I remember him," said Grace and Horace together. "Does he wear a
wig? He isn't old at all."

"He _calls_ himself 'an old mustache,'" returned Dotty, "for he said so
to me. He wears one of those _hair-lips_, and a wig."

"And he's as blind as a post?"

"O, no, he can see things now. I liked him, for he gave me all the
apples and peaches I could eat."

"I reckon it did him good to go to the war," exclaimed Horace, "for I
remember, when I was a little fellow, how he boxed my ears!"

"He has suffered a great deal since then," said the gentle Cassy,
thoughtfully. "You know people generally grow better by suffering."

"Dotty dear, you can't keep your eyes open," said Grace, after the
candy had been pulled. "I don't believe it will make _you_ any better to
suffer. I'm going to put you to bed."

"And here I am," thought Dotty, as she laid her tired head on the
pillow, "out West, under a sketo bar. Got here safe. I ought to have
thanked God a little harder in my prayer."

CHAPTER VII.

WAKING UP OUT WEST.

Dotty was wakened next morning by a variety of sounds. The
mocking-bird, the canary, the hens, and Horace's guinea pig were astir,
and wished their little world to be aware of it. Flyaway was dressed and
running about, making herself generally useful.

Before the tired young traveller knew where she was, a little hand was
busy at the door knob, and a baby voice called out,--

"Dottee, Dottee, is you waked up?"

"O, now I know where I am! This is Aunt 'Ria's house, and that little
snip of a Flyaway is trying to get in. O, dear, dear, how far off I am!
Prudy Parlin, I wonder if you're thinking about me?"

"Dottee! Dottee!" called the small voice again.

"O, I s'pose that baby'll stand at the door all day."

But just then the knob turned, and in rushed Flyaway out of breath.

"Good-morning, Miss Topknot," said Dotty, addressing her by one of the
dove-names Horace was so fond of using.

"O, I's pitty well," replied Flyaway, dancing across the room. "I didn't
sleep any till las' night. I d'eamed awtul d'eams; so I kep' awake, and
wouldn't go to sleep."

And into bed climbed the little one, laying her head, with its tangled
floss, right across Dotty's face.

"Dear me!"