Horace had as many thoughts as a drowning man. How had he ever dared
bring such a will-o'-the-wisp away from home? How had his mother
consented to let him? His father had charged him, over and over, not to
let go Fly's hand in the street. That did very well to talk about; but
what could you do with a child that wasn't made of flesh and blood, but
the very lightest kind of gas?

"Dotty, turn down this street, and I'll keep on up Broadway. No--no;
you'd get lost. What shall we do? Go just where I do, as hard as you can
run, and don't lose sight of me."

Dotty began to pant. She could not keep on at this rate of speed, and
Horace saw it.

"You'll have to go back to Stewart's."

"Where's Stewart's?" gasped Dotty, still running.

"Why, that stone building on Tenth Street, with blue curtains, where we
left auntie."

"I don't know anything about Tenth Street or blue curtains."

"But you'll know it when you get there. Just cross over--"

"O, Horace Clifford, I can't cross over! There's horses and carriages
every minute; and my mother made me almost promise I wouldn't ever cross
over."

"There are plenty of policemen, Dotty; they'll take you by the