"O, they won't! I'm a doctor's chillen; they won't bite me," said Flaxie, who was never afraid of any thing or anybody.
"Well, you mustn't keep that window open any longer. You'll get cold, if you are a doctor's children," said Dora. "Run into the parlor to your mother. Why, you haven't seen her for an hour."
Flaxie was not at all anxious to see her mother, but ran into the parlor and called for a slate and pencil. Mrs. Gray gave them to her; and Flaxie drew pictures for ten minutes,—such pictures! Then the squeaking stopped, and she began to cry.
"What is it, darling?" said mamma.
"I've losted my pessle," sobbed Flaxie.
"O, well, I'll get you another. Don't cry."
"I've losted it up my nose," screamed the child, running to her mother in great distress.
It was true. The pencil was a very short one; and, in poking it into her nose, just for fun, she had pushed it too far, and it would not come out. Mrs. Gray tried her very best; but the harder she tried the further up went the pencil, and the more Flaxie's nose bled and swelled. It was growing worse every minute; and Mrs. Gray, not knowing what else to do, called Dora from the kitchen and sent her for "Dr. Papa."
When Flaxie knew her father was sent for, she cried louder than ever; for she thought she must be dreadfully hurt.