Suppose we both go up stairs a few minutes?"

"There, auntie's going to reason with me," thought Dotty, winding slowly
up the staircase; "I didn't suppose she was one of that kind."

"No dear, I'm _not_ one of that kind," said Mrs. Allen, roguishly; for
she saw just what the child was thinking. "'I come not here to talk.'
All I have to say is this: Disobey again, and I send you home
immediately."

"Yes'm," said the little culprit, blushing crimson. "Now, brush your
hair, and let us go down." This was the only allusion Mrs. Allen ever
made to the subject; but after this, she and Dotty understood each other
perfectly. Dotty had learned, once for all, that her aunt was not to be
trifled with.

The child really was ashamed--thoroughly ashamed; but do you suppose
she admitted it to Horace? Not she. And he, so full of anguish
concerning the lost Fly, found not a word of fault; scarcely even
thought of his naughty cousin at all.




CHAPTER VII.

THE LOST FLY.


Now we must go back and see what has become of the little one.