“I guess I will go to school with you, Milly, if you want me to so much,” said she at last one morning, when her cousins had all stopped teasing her. “I just despise Miss Pike, but I like the one that has the dropsies, and I want to hear her sing.”
Such a hugging and kissing followed this remark that Flaxie felt as if she had said a very fine thing, and started off with Milly, carrying her head very high.
The schoolhouse was white, with green blinds, and stood on the bank of the river, shaded by trees. Burdocks, milkweed, rushes, dandelions, and buttercups, were sprinkled around, while close down by the river was a narrow strip of clay bank, very nice to cut into with penknives,—as you would think if you had seen the pretty images some of the children made and spread out on boards in the sun.
Inside the schoolhouse it was nice and cool, with a large entry and recitation-room, and flowers on the desks and tables. The teacher, “that homely Miss Pike,” moved about softly, and spoke in low, sweet tones, smiling, and showing even white teeth.
“I s’pose her soul will fly right out of her when she dies,—and that won’t have a red nose,” thought Flaxie, gazing at her with curiosity mingled with awe.
Somehow there was a happy feeling all over the schoolroom because Miss Pike was in it, and Flaxie’s thoughts grew pleasant, she could not have told why. But one thing she did know, she wanted to be a good girl,—not pretty good, but the very best in the world,—that that sweet woman might love her.