Flaxie began to call for her supper the moment her father and mother and little Phil were out of sight.
"'Cause there's queam-cakes, too, I saw 'em. And then I guess I'd better go see Lucy; she's spectin' me."
"No, ma'am, Flaxie Frizzle," said Preston, firmly. "You're not going further than the weeping-willow this day; and I shan't let you do that if you don't behave."
The new tone of command rather awed little Miss Frizzle; and, to Preston's surprise, she began to cry.
"I want to go to heaven," said she, throwing the kitten angrily across the room. "I've got tired o' waitin' to go to heaven."
Preston could not help laughing; for Flaxie looked very, very little like an angel.
"God won't let me peek in, and he won't take me up there," went on the child, sulkily. "You needn't laugh, Preston; you don't know what I want to do. I've got sumpin' for Rosa, and I want to carry it to her."
"Why, Rosa is dead."
"No; she's in heaven. Here's sumpin' I want her to have," said Flaxie, opening a little box, and displaying a China lamb. "I 'tended it for her, and I'm 'termined she shall have it."