"Now, Kate, come into the house; and next time, when I call, come at once," said her mother. "If you had minded me, perhaps my flower would not have been spoiled."
"I will be more careful next time, mother," replied Kate.
"I hope you will. I think you have done sufficient mischief by being careless, and I hope you will soon begin to do better."
"I will try, mother."
Very likely she meant to try, just then, while she was smarting under her mother's rebuke, and while she was still sad at the loss of the flower; but she had promised to do better so many times, that her mother could hardly believe her again.
"I want you to carry this quart of milk down in the meadow to poor Mrs. O'Brien," said Mrs. Lamb, as she handed her a tin kettle. "And you must go quick, for it is almost dark now."
"It won't take me long, mother."
"But you must be very careful, and not spill any of the milk."
"I will be very careful."
"Mrs. O'Brien is sick, and has two small children. This milk is for their supper."