Mrs.Parlin wished to keep her up stairs as long as possible, because Ruth had a toothache.
"Shan't I tell you a story, dear ?" said she.
"Yes, um; tell 'bout a long baby--no, a long story 'bout a short baby." "Well, once there was a king, and he had a daughter--" "O, no, gamma, not that! Tell me 'bout baby that _didn't_ be on the bul-yushes; I don't want to hear 'bout _Mosey_!" Grandma smiled, and wondered if people, in the good old Bible days, were in the habit of using pet names, and if Pharaoh's daughter ever called the Hebrew boy "Mosey." She was about to begin another story, when Flyaway said, "Guess I'll go out, now," and slid off the bed.
There was an orange on the table.

She took it, held it behind her, and walked quickly to the door.

Looking back, she saw that her grandmother was watching her.
"What you looking at, gamma?
'Cause I'm are goin' to bring the ollinge right back." And so she did, but not because it was wrong to keep it.

Flyaway had no conscience, or, if she had any, it was very small, folded up out of sight, like a leaf-bud on a tree in the spring.
"Ask Ruthie to wash your face and hands, and then come right back to grandma and hear the story." "Yes um." Down stairs she pattered.

The moment Ruth had kissed her, and turned away to make a poultice, she crept into the nursery, and put on Horace's straw hat.