Dotty was giving an extra touch to her chignon, and Prudy trying on her cap.

"Hark! What's that ?" It was the street-cry away off in the backyard--"Fine fresh oranges." "Guess I'll go see what's the matter with that man," thought Miss Fly.
"Guess he's got hurted." She slid down from the bureau, and stole softly out of the room backward; but her feet made no more sound on the carpet than the fall of a rose-leaf, and neither of the girls looked up.
"For course I shan't go ou'doors, 'cause I _solomon_ promised I wouldn't," said she, pattering down the basement stairs.
The fact was, she had no idea any one would let her go.

But it so happened that thoughtless Rachel was the one who unlocked the basement door, and it was an easy thing to slip out behind her.
"'Cause I spect she'll send me ri' back." But when Rachel looked around, and saw the pretty child with her fair hair blowing wild, she only laughed and went on gossiping with the orange boy.

She saw no harm in letting Fly hop about the pavement on one foot sucking oranges, till she herself felt chilled by the keen wind; then she drew the little girl into the house, and shut the door against the snow-storm, saying,-- "Why, how happened you out here, little Miss Fly ?" "She sawed me the whole time; she ought to sended me in," thought Fly, dancing up and down to shake off the snow.

"Twasn't me was naughty; 'twas the rest the folks.