"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.