But, soon tiring of that, she came back to the sitting-room, and looked wistfully out of the window.
"Gamma," said she, "O gamma, mayn't I have a wormy apple, and go ou' doors?"
Grandma Pressy laughed, and said,—
"I think I know of something that will make you happy, little Mary. You just go into the nursery and see what's there."
Flaxie went at once; and there, on the rug, sat Lena Vigue, fondling a pretty Maltese kitten. Lena was the washerwoman's barefooted daughter; and she had just brought the kitten in an old covered basket.
"O Lena, I didn't know you's here," said Miss Frizzle, dropping her "lion hash" in a chair. "I'm glad you bringed your kitty."
"It's your kitty now," sighed Lena. "I've got to leave it here."
"My kitty?" cried Flaxie, clapping her hands.
"Yes; your mamma asked me to fetch it. She told me she'd give me te-en cents if I'd fetch it," said Lena, who always spoke with a drawl.