“Oh, I know she’s good, mamma. Why, she is the best woman in this town; she’s the best woman in the world! And she knows she’s good, and it makes her just as proud!”
Now Mrs. Prim really was a person who seemed to be proud of her goodness, and Flaxie had described her very well; but Mrs. Gray said again:
“Mary, we are talking of you now, not of Auntie Prim.”
“Oh dear, I don’t like to! I s’pect you think I don’t try to be good; but, mamma, I do! I try real hard. But,” said the little girl, patting her chest and her side, “there’s something in me that’s naughty clear through.”
The tears had come now and were dropping over the little fat hands, for in spite of her queer way of talking, Flaxie felt really unhappy about her bad conduct; though perhaps nobody but her mother would have believed it.
These two good friends had a long talk,—the kind mamma and her little daughter who meant to do better,—and when Ninny came to call them to dinner, Flaxie said, joyfully,
“O Ninny, I’m going to begin new, and you mustn’t ’member I ever was naughty.”
That was the way Mrs. Gray forgave her children; she put their naughtiness far off and never talked of it any more. Is that the way God forgives his children?
After this, Flaxie was one of the most charming little girls you ever saw for two whole months. She said it was because Mrs. Prim was gone; but of course it was simply because she tried harder to be good; that was all. Toward the last of the winter, Uncle Ben Allen, Milly’s father, passed through Laurel Grove on business, and spent the night at Dr. Gray’s.
“When I go home to-morrow,” said he, “I’d like to take one of these little girls. Have you one to spare?”