skipt; and then I'll forgive him all goody."

A very nice plan; only, instead of going back, she turned a corner, and
tripped along towards University Place. She had twisted her head so much
in looking for Horace, that it was completely turned round. And,
besides, a little farther on was a man playing a harp, and a small boy a
violin. Fly paused and listened, till she no longer remembered Horace or
the "skipt." She forgot this was New York, and dreamed she had come to
fairy-land. Her soul was full of music. Happy thoughts about nothing in
particular made her smile and clap her hands. Birds, flowers, Santa
Clauses, Flipperties, and "pepnits" seemed to hover near. Something
beautiful was just going to happen, she didn't know what.

After the man had played for some time without attracting attention from
any body but Flyaway and a poor old beggar woman, he put his harp in a
green bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked off. Flyaway followed
without knowing it. Down Sixth Avenue went the music-man, and close at
his heels went she. By and by she saw a little girl, no larger than
herself, with a great bundle on her shoulders.

"You don't s'pose she's got a music on _her_ back?--No, not a music;
it's too soft all swelled out in a bunch."

Fly went nearer the little girl, to see what she was carrying; and as
she did so, some gray coals, mixed with ashes, fell out of the bundle
upon her nice cloak.

"Why, she's been and carried off her mother's fireplace," thought Fly,
shaking her cloak in disgust; "what you s'pose she wanted to do that
for?"