“Come, Freddy,” said Johnny, “let’s hurry home, or there won’t be any apple-dumpling left. If Flaxie doesn’t want to come she needn’t, you know.”
Johnny spoke with such a show of indifference that Flaxie was struck by it. He was ten years old, just the age of her brother Preston, and had had some experience in managing children younger than himself. As he was walking off with Freddy, she trudged after, exclaiming:
“Well, will you lemme leave my umberella? Will you lemme come back again? Will you, Johnny?”
“We’ll see what mother says. What makes you come home with us? Why don’t you stay with the man and be locked up?” replied Master Johnny. But he had her fast by the hand, and led her home in triumph.
“What did make you try to run away?” asked Freddy, when they were safely in the house.
Flaxie felt rather ashamed by that time, for Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Ben were both looking at her.
“I read about a little girl that did it,” said she, dropping her eyes.
“Well, I’ll read to you about a little girl that didn’t do it.”
“Hush, Freddy,” said mamma, for Flaxie’s lips were quivering, “we’ll have our dinner now, and then I am going to Chicopee to see Mrs. Adams, who has the gold-fishes and parrot and canary. Flaxie may go with me if she likes.”
Flaxie brightened a little at this, and thought she wouldn’t go home to see her mother to-day; she would wait till to-morrow. Still her heart ached now and then just as hard as ever, and when she was riding in the cars that afternoon to Chicopee with her aunt beside her and her second-best dolly in her arms, she did look the picture of woe.