Fly thought it would.

A dreadful fit of bashfulness came over Horace, when he stood face to face with the black-eyed lady and her daughters, and tried to speak.

“I’ve got a little girl travelling with me, ma’am; she’s so—­so uneasy, that I don’t know what to do with her.  Will you let me take—­I mean, are you willing—­”

“Bring her over here, and we will try to amuse her,” said the black-eyed lady, pleasantly; but Horace was sure he saw the oldest girl laughing at him.

“It’s no fun to go and make a fool of yourself,” thought he, leading Fly to the new acquaintances, and standing by as she settled herself shyly in the seat.

“How do you do, little one?  What is your name?—­Flyaway?—­Well, you look like it.  We saw you were a darling, clear across the aisle.  And you have a kind brother, I know.”

At these words Fly, for want of some answer to make, sprang forward and kissed Horace on the bridge of the nose.

“There, you’ve knocked off my cap.”

In stooping to pick it up, he awkwardly hit his head against the older girl, who already looked so mischievous that he was rather afraid of her.

“Wish I could get out of the way.  She expects me to speak, but I shan’t.

  “’Needles and pins, needles and pins,
    When a man travels his trouble begins.’”

Horace was obliged to stand, very ill at ease, till the black-eyed lady had found out where he lived, who his father was, and what was his mother’s name before she was married.

“Tell your father, when you go home, you have seen Mrs. Bonnycastle, formerly Ann Jones, and give him my regards.  I knew he married a lady from Maine.”

“I know sumpin,” struck in Fly; “if ever I marry anybody, I’ll marry my own brother Hollis.  I mean if I don’t be a ole maid!”

“And what is ‘a ole maid,’ you little witch?”

“I don’ know; some folks is,” was the wise reply.  Flyaway was about to add “Gampa Clifford,” but did not feel well enough acquainted to talk of family matters.

When the Bonnycastles left, at Cleveland, Horace thought that was the last of them.  Miss Gerty was “decent-looking, looked some like Cassy Hallock; but he couldn’t bear to see folks giggle; hoped he never should set eyes on those people again.”  Whether he ever did, you shall hear one of these days.

“O, Topknot,” said he, “your hair looks like a mop.  Do you want all creation laughing at you?  You’ll mortify me to death.”

“You ought to water it.  If you don’t take better care o’ your little sister, I won’t never ride with you no more, Hollis Clifford!”

“Well, see that you don’t, you little scarecrow,” said the suffering boy, out of all patience.  “If you are going to act in New York as you have on the road, I wish I was well out of this scrape.”

Flyaway was really a sight to behold.  How she managed to tear her dress off the waist, and loose five boot buttons, and last, but not least, the very hat she wore on her head, would have been a mystery if you hadn’t seen her run.