"I dare say his name is Daniel, but he was never in a lion's den." Flyaway opened and closed her eyes in the slowest and most impressive manner.

"Mamma," said she, solemnly, "does--folks--tell--lies ?" It was an entirely now idea to the innocent child: it stamped itself upon her mind like a motto on warm sealing-wax, "Folks--does--tell--lies." Mrs.Clifford was sorry to see the look of distrust on the young face.
"Listen to me, little Flyaway.

I think the man was in sport; he was only playing with you, as Horace does sometimes, when he calls himself your horse." Flyaway said no more, but she pressed her eyelids together again, and felt that she had been trifled with.

Half an hour afterwards Prudy heard her repeating, slowly, to herself, "Folks--does--tell--lies." "Why, here she is," called Dotty from the piazza; "come, Fly; we're going wheel-barrowing." "Wait a minute, cousin Dotty," said Mrs.Clifford; "Flyaway must put on a clean frock; she is not coming home with you, but you are to leave her at aunt Martha's.

I shall meet her there at dinner time." "O, mamma, may I?
I love you a hundred rooms full.