“No, she’s coming back to-night, I s’pect, and bring grammy a cap. No, I don’t s’pect she’ll ever go home,” said Flaxie, shaking her little head sadly.
“Well, she’s gone now, ain’t she, this whole afternoon? And why can’t you come up to my house and see me?”
Flaxie knew why. It was because she ought to help amuse the baby. Dora had been making peach preserves all day, and it was too hard for Grandma Gray to take care of Phil alone. But Flaxie asked all the same, “May I go?” and grandma never could say “no” when little folks teased, so she answered, “Yes, and stay till half-past four; no longer.”
Nothing was said about supper; but the children thought there would be time enough for that, and breakfast too, almost—it seemed so very long till half-past four.
“Very well,” said Patty’s mother, when they went into the smoky kitchen, where she was holding the baby that had four teeth. “Very well, you may both run out to play, and when it is time to call you in, I’ll ring the bell.”
There wasn’t much to play with, except sand right in the middle of the road; but Flaxie had never been allowed as much dirt as she wanted, and this seemed very pleasant for a change. It would have been pleasanter still if her conscience had felt easy. She was only six years old, but she knew perfectly well when her actions were right and when they were wrong.
“I never saw such a splendid visit,” said she, when Mr. Proudfit kindly allowed her and Patty to feed the pigs. “But don’t they have the awfullest-looking smell?” added she, gazing thoughtfully into the pen, which was dirty, like everything else about the place. Her own nice frock was already soiled, but she tried not to see it, and not to think how Auntie Prim would stare at it through her spectacles.
“Why, what’s that?” said she.
It was, oh dear! it was the bell; and there was Mrs. Proudfit at the back door ringing it. Grown people are always thinking what time it is; they never forget.
“I’m sorry you can’t stay to tea, Miss Flaxie,” said Mrs. Proudfit, politely.