"I feel more com-fi-a-ble."
But Flaxie was still crying. It was not only for the discomfort. She saw now what a silly girl she had been to wear her best clothes; and the broken wing of the bird of Paradise dangling before her eyes added the last feather to her weight of misery.
The crowd began to move again by half-inch steps. The open door was reached at last. Now they were fairly inside the White House; yet still there was one room to cross, in order to reach the President. But Flaxie's feelings were greatly changed. She no longer expected the President to admire, or even look at her. Why should he, so forlorn and dilapidated as she was, and so very, very small?
But she had little time for these humble reflections. As they entered the door of the White House a current of warm air met them, and Mrs. Gray grew instantly faint. A strange lady in the crowd caught a fan from another strange lady, and gave it to Miss Pike. Miss Pike fanned Mrs. Gray a moment, and then she and some one else dragged her out from the narrow line of people who were pushing toward the next room, and extended her upon the floor before an open window.
Mrs. Gray was perfectly colorless, and her eyes were closed. "She has lost her consciousness," said some one, just as Flaxie broke through the crowd and rushed toward her.
"Oh, mamma, mamma, are you dead? Speak to me, speak to me, mamma," wailed the child.
And Mrs. Gray opened her eyes, and smiled. She was obliged to smile in order to reassure her little daughter, but she was of course too weak yet to go back to the dreadful crowd. She needed and must have rest and quiet and fresh air.
"Children, do you care much about seeing the President?" asked Miss Pike. "He looks very much like other men; he doesn't wear a crown."
"Oh, doesn't wear a crown?" echoed little Kittyleen. Perhaps she had fancied he did, or, at any rate, that he was in some way a very grand and radiant being.