“Oh, I was only thinking, grandma, it does seem as if something might be done to prevent people from calling me Flaxie Frizzle—I’m just worn out with it. It did very well when I was a little child; but now that I’m twelve years old, I ought to be treated with more respect. It’s very silly to call people by anything but their real, true names; don’t you think so? Oh, here comes the Countess Leonora!” cried Mary in a different tone, dropping her work, breaking her needle, and pricking her finger, all in a second of time.
“Who? I didn’t understand you, dear.”
“Oh, it’s only Fanny Townsend, grandma. We have fancy names for each other, we girls, and Fanny’s name is Countess Leonora,” cried Mary, quite unaware that there was anything “silly” in this, or that grandma was amused by her inconsistent remarks. The dear old lady smiled benevolently as a small figure in a brown cloak rushed in, breathless from running. It was not Fanny Townsend and Mary Gray, it seemed, who began to chat together in the bay-window, but the Countess Leonora, and her friend, Lady Dandelina Tangle. Lady Dandelina was telling the Countess that her mother and sister were ill, and that she was left in charge of the castle.
“Don’t you miss your brother Preston so much, Lady Dandelina?”
“Indeed I do, Countess; but young men are obliged to go to college, you know. And I can bear it better because my cousin, Fred Allen, of Hilltop, is with us. He will stay, I don’t know how long, and go to school. I only wish it was my sister Milly!”
“So do I, Lady Dandelina. Oh, I saw that old teacher of ours, Mr. Fling, as I was coming here. He stood on the hotel-piazza talking with Miss Pike.”
“Mr. Fling?” said Mary, laughing. She had dropped her work, for how could she sew without a needle?
“Yes; and said he, ‘How’s your health, Miss Fr-an-ce-s?’ as if I’d been sick. I like him out of school, Dandelina; but in school he used to be sort of hateful, don’t you know?”
“Not exactly hateful,” replied Mary, stealing a glance at grandma. “I call it troublesome.”