"I know what I'll do," thought Ninny, wringing the suds from her hands. "I'll see mamma alone, and ask her if she won't let Flaxie take my place, and ride to New York this afternoon. Perhaps that will make her feel better."
"And would you really like to have her go instead of you?" said Mrs. Gray, looking at Ninny's upturned face, and thinking it was one of the sweetest faces she had ever seen in her life.
"Yes'm, I should," said the little girl, earnestly. "I can't bear to have her so cross; and you can't bear it, either, mamma. It almost makes you cry."
"But will she be pleasant if she goes to ride?"
"I think so, mamma. You know she is generally pleasant when she has her own way."
And, indeed, Flaxie's little snarled-up face smoothed in a moment when she heard of the ride.
"I'll sit as still as a possible mouse," said she, dancing about her mamma. "I won't trouble papa one bit. Take off my sicking dress, Ninny, and put on my rosy-posy dress. Do it kick."
Was she sorry there was not room enough for Ninny,—good Ninny, who did so much to make her happy? O, no: Flaxie herself was to have a fine time; and that was all she thought about it.
"Let me hold the reins, Dr. Papa," said she, as soon as she had climbed into the carriage. "I can make the hossy go like a tiger."
"You must sit between your mamma and me, Mary Gray, and keep still; or I shall take you back to the house," said Dr. Papa, sternly.