The two from Kentucky were entirely unlike, yet each in her way was excellent and charming,—tall, queenly Grandma Hyde, wearing gray silk and a turban, and always piecing together a silk patch-work quilt; roly-poly Grandma Curtis, clad entirely in black, and always knitting children's stockings with needles that clicked. But they were alike in one respect; they both remembered everything they had ever seen or heard of, and everything that had ever happened since the world began. Yes, and they were both gifted with wondrous powers of story-telling. Tiny Grandma Gray, with her sweet, low voice, had hardly a chance to speak; for the Kentucky ladies were talking morning, noon, and night.
It was delightful to hear them, and Grandma Gray listened and laughed, her white cap-strings fluttering, and said she was renewing her youth. But by-and-by it began to tire her head, for she was very delicate indeed, and she complained that she could not sleep. Still she would stay in the parlor, she enjoyed the talking so much; and Mrs. Prim came one day, and declared she should carry her off.
"You must stay with me a while and be quiet," said Mrs. Prim, who liked to manage everything, "and Mary shall come with you to take care of you."
Flaxie did not spring up and exclaim, "Oh, Auntie Prim, thank you, thank you, I'd be so glad to go!" for the truth was she did not wish to go in the least. At the same time, she felt it a high honor to be invited to Mrs. Prim's to take care of Grandma Gray. She could remember the time, not so very long ago, when she had been sent away from home because Grandma Gray could not bear the noise she made.
"I'm growing a great deal stiller and a great deal better as I grow up," thought the little girl, with a throb of pride, "but I didn't suppose Auntie Prim knew it."
"We don't like to spare our dear little Mary," said both the Kentucky grandmothers in a breath; and then Flaxie felt prouder than ever.
"Oh, she can come home every day to see you, and you will be surprised at the number of pillow-cases she will make; she always sews very steadily at my house," replied Mrs. Prim. "Run now, Mary, and get your hat."
Mrs. Prim had the finest house and grounds in Laurel Grove, but it was very still there, oh, altogether too still! The gardener never talked, except to himself, the chambermaid was rather deaf, and Kitty, the cook, did not like any one in her nice, orderly kitchen. Flaxie thought it a very dull place, except at the hours when Mr. Prim came home to his meals.
One day she sat in the parlor, sewing "over and over" upon a pillow-case. Out of doors it was a lovely June day. The trees, and grass, and birds, and flowers, were nodding at one another, and having a gay time, and Flaxie longed to be with them. But no, at "Primrose Bower," as Mr. Prim called his home, it was necessary to stay in the house; for Auntie Prim thought a little girl nine years old ought to "sew her seams," and then she might play, perhaps, if she found any time.