Little Folks Astray | Page 9

Here is Prudy, who tried
yesterday--didn't she?--to go up to heaven on a ladder, almost a young
lady. Why, how old it makes me feel!"
"But you don't look old," said Dotty, consolingly; "you don't look
married any more than Aunt Louise?"
Here they took an omnibus, and the children interested themselves in
watching the different people who sat near them.
"Aren't you glad to come?" said Dotty. "See that man getting out. What
is that little thing he's switching himself with?"
"That's a cane," replied Horace.
"A cane? Why, if Flyaway should lean on it, she'd break it in
two.--Prudy, look at that man in the corner; his cane is funnier than the
other one."

Horace laughed.
"That is a pipe, Dotty--a meerschaum."
"Well, I don't see much difference," said Miss Dimple; "New York is
the queerest place. Such long pipes, and such short canes!"
Fly was too happy to talk, and sat looking out of the window until an
elegantly-dressed lady entered the stage, who attracted everybody's
attention; and then Flyaway started up, and stood on her tiptoes. The
lady's face was painted so brightly that even a child could not help
noticing it. It was haggard and wrinkled, all but the cheeks, and those
bloomed out like a red, red rose. Flyaway had never seen such a sight
before, and thought if the lady only knew how she looked, she would
go right home and wash her face.
"What a chee-arming little girl!" said the painted woman, crowding in
between Aunt Madge and Flyaway, and patting the child's shoulder
with her ungloved hand, which was fairly ablaze with jewels;
"bee-youtiful!"
Flyaway turned quickly around to Aunt Madge, and said, in one of her
very loud whispers, "What's the matter with her? She's got sumpin on
her face."
"Hush," whispered Aunt Madge, pinching the child's hand.
"But there is," spoke up Flyaway, very loud in her earnestness; "O,
there is sumpin on her face--sumpin red."
There was "sumpin" now on all the other faces in the omnibus, and it
was a smile. The lady must have blushed away down under the paint.
She looked at her jewelled fingers, tossed her head proudly, and very
soon left the stage.
"Topknot, how could you be so rude?" said Horace, severely; "little
girls should be seen, and not heard."

"But she speaked to me first," said Flyaway. "I wasn't goin' to say
nuffin, and then she speaked."
A young gentleman and lady opposite seemed very much amused.
"I'm afraid of your bright eyes, little dear. I'll give you some candy if
you won't tell me how I look," said the young lady, showering
sweetmeats into Flyaway's lap.
"Why, I wasn't goin' to tell her how she looked," whispered Fly, very
much surprised, and trying to nestle out of sight behind Horace's
shoulder.
When they left the omnibus, the children had a discussion about the
painted lady, and could not decide whether they were glad or sorry that
Fly had spoken out so plainly.
"Good enough for her," said Dotty.
"But it was such a pity to hurt her feelings!" said Prudy.
"Who hurted 'em?" asked Fly, looking rather sheepish.
"Poh! her feelings can't be worth much," remarked Horace; "a woman
that'll go and rig herself up in that style."
"She must be near-sighted," said Aunt Madge. "She certainly can't have
the faintest idea how thick that paint is. She ought to let somebody else
put it on."
"But, auntie, isn't it wicked to wear paint on your cheeks?"
"No, Dotty, only foolish. That woman was handsome once, but her
beauty is gone. She thinks she can make herself young again, and then
people will admire her."
"O, but they won't; they'll only laugh."
"Very true, Dotty; but I dare say she never thought of that till this little

child told her."
"Fly," said Horace, "You are doing a great deal of good going round
hurting folks' feelings."
"Poor woman!" said Aunt Madge, with a pitying smile; "she might
comfort herself by trying to make her soul beautiful."
"That would be altogether the best plan," said Horace, aside to Prudy;
"she can't do much with her body, that's a fact; it's too dried up."
All this while they were passing elegant shops, and Aunt Madge let the
children pause as long as they liked before the windows, to admire the
beautiful things.
"Whose little grampa is that?" cried Fly, pointing to a Santa Claus
standing on the pavement and holding out his hands with a very
pleasant smile; "he's all covered with a snow-storm."
"He isn't alive," said Dotty; "and the snow is only painted on his coat in
little dots."
"Well, I didn't spect he was alive, Dotty Dimple, only but he made
believe he was. And O, see that hossy! he's dead, too,