It was a hard time for everybody when Flaxie was cross. She tried to sew, but her work acted "orfly;" the stitches were "cross-eyed," she said.
"I hate my padge-work," cried she, angrily; "I hate it dead!"
"Then I wouldn't sew," said kind Ninny. "Come out to the shed, and I'll swing you."
That was no better. After swinging a little while, Flaxie happened to fall off a pile of boards, and ran into the house, crying out,—
"I swang and I swang; up real high, most up to the sky. Hurt me orfly. Look at my stoggins and see'f I didn't."
"Perhaps you'd like to hear a story," said Mrs. Gray, taking the child in her lap.
"Yes, tell me a story with a long end to it. Tell about Cindrilla."
Mrs. Gray began; and, when she got as far as this,—"Cinderella asked her mother, and her mother said, 'No, Cinderella, you can't go to the party,'" then Flaxie smiled. Somehow she liked to hear about Cinderella's having a hard time: she thought she had a hard time herself. But, when the story was half done, she wanted something else.