"Yes, mamma, I do," replied Flaxie, hanging her head. "But it is hard to forgive children sometimes, when they ought to be at home, you know, and not going 'round to other people's houses to make trouble!"
"Is Kittyleen at fault for going where her mother sends her? You are old enough, my daughter, to be more reasonable. Is this the way you are beginning to receive the discipline of your life?"
Flaxie knew what "discipline" meant. It was the name her mother gave to all troubles, both great and small, assuring Flaxie they are sent to us in love, to do us good, unless, alas, we receive them in a perverse spirit, and then they only make us worse.
"You can forgive Kittyleen, my child; God will help you; and until you do it you will have no peace; you will live in darkness and gloom. Go away by yourself for a while, and when I see you again I hope there will be a little light in your soul."
About an hour afterward, Flaxie, with a beaming smile, came into the parlor where her sister Julia sat amusing Kittyleen. She had a plate of golden-brown cookies in her hand, baked in the form of stars, fishes, and elephants.
"Here's a star for you, all sugar and spice," said she very pleasantly to Kittyleen. "And I'll forgive you for scratching my doll all up and digging her eyes out. She's just ruined, did you know it? Ruined! And you're a bad little girl; but I forgive you!"
"Mary, my child, my child, is that what you meant to say?"
The grieved look on Mrs. Gray's face touched Flaxie's heart in a moment.
"No, mamma, it wasn't what I meant at all. She isn't bad, and I didn't know I was going to say that. I do forgive you, Kittyleen, really and truly. You never meant the least harm. Kiss me, darling! Flaxie loves you just the same, for you're only a baby and didn't know any better."
There was no "half-way work" about this. Kittyleen, perfectly willing to be forgiven, nestled up to Flaxie and laid her soft cheek against hers, murmuring, without meaning anything at all,—