“Do you love me, mamma?” said she, beating her mug against her red waiter.
“When you are a good girl, Flaxie.”
“Well, look right in my eyes, mamma. Don’t you see I are a good girl? And mayn’t I go a-riding?”
“Eat your dinner, Mary Gray, and don’t talk.”
Her mother never called her Mary Gray except when she was troublesome.
“I want to tell you sumpin, mamma,” whispered 037she, bending forward and almost scalding herself against the teapot, “I won’t talk; I won’t talk a tall.”
But it was of no use. Mrs. Willard was not fond of little girls, and Mrs. Gray would not take Flaxie; she must stay at home with her sister Ninny.
Now Ninny—or Julia—was almost ten years old, a dear, good, patient little girl, who bore with Flaxie’s naughtiness, and hardly ever complained. But this afternoon, at four o’clock, her best friend, Eva Snow, was coming, and Ninny did hope that by that time her mamma would be at home again!
Mrs. Gray and Mrs. Willard rode off in the carriage; and the moment they were gone, Flaxie began to frisk like a wild creature.