“Well, little sobersides,” said her father, putting the check in his pocket, the ticket in his hat, and opening a car-window before he sat down beside Milly. “Well, little sobersides, are you glad you’re going visiting?”
“Yes, sir,” said she, her eyes shining. She didn’t laugh and clap her hands quite as much as Flaxie did, but you always knew when she was happy by the glad look in her eyes.
“I hope you two little folks won’t get into too much mischief at Laurel Grove. Are you going to school?”
“Yes, sir; and oh, it’s such an elegant schoolhouse!”
“Well, don’t set it on fire.”
Milly blushed.
“But the teacher isn’t half so nice as Miss Pike.”
The dear little girl had not been at Laurel Grove for a long while, but all the people in town seemed to remember her,—Mr. Lane the minister, Mr. Snow the postmaster, and everybody they met in the street. Her father noticed how they smiled upon her, as if they loved her, and it made his heart glad.
Preston drove his uncle and cousin home from the depot, but he almost ran into a lumber-wagon, and Mr. Allen thought he was too young a boy to be trusted with such a fiery horse as Whiz. Flaxie sat with him on the front seat of the carriage, dancing up and down, and turning around to say to Milly:
“Oh, I’m so happy I can’t keep still.” She looked like a bluebird, in her blue dress and sash, with a white chip bonnet, blue ribbon and blue feather, and Milly thought there was not another such girl in the world.