told Crawford "it did her good to see how much the neighbors thought of Flaxie Frizzle, for all she was such a curious-acting child."

"And, Crawford, you'll have to take down that 'scarecrow sister,' and put up something else; for I can't spend my time running to the door to explain to folks that it isn't Flaxie Frizzle."

II.

FLAXIE'S DOSE.

That summer Grandpa Pressy came to Dr. Gray's, visiting. Flaxie Frizzle had five grandfathers, but she loved Grandpa Pressy best of all; and he loved her, too, and called her his "little boy."

Now, the dear old gentleman had a poor memory; and, if he laid down his newspaper or spectacles, he hardly ever knew where to find them.

"I guess I left my silk handkerchief up stairs," said he, one morning. "Won't my little boy run up, and get it off the bureau?"

Flaxie went in a moment, but the handkerchief was not there. There was a silver box on the bureau, though, a very pretty one; and Flaxie thought she would open it and see what was in it. It was an old-fashioned snuff-box. Grandpa Pressy did not use snuff, but he carried his medicines in this box when he went away from home. There were three kinds of medicine,—cough lozenges, sugar-coated pills, and a tiny bottle wrapped in cotton-wool, and marked "wine of antimony."

First, Flaxie took out a cough lozenge, and put it on her tongue; but it was rather fiery, and she said,—

"O, it quackles me."

She would not touch the "candy pills," for she had seen the same sort before, and knew they were bitter inside; but she picked the vial out of the cotton-wool, held it up to the light, and thought it looked "very nice."

"Mayn't I have some, grandpa?" whispered she.

She knew her gampa was not there to hear her: it was a way she had of talking to herself.

"Mayn't I have some, gampa?" Then she smiled very sweetly, and replied aloud,—

"Yes, little boy, you may have some."

Ah, Flaxie, Flaxie! To think you should know no better than to meddle with such dreadful things! The antimony was as poisonous as it could be; but, if anybody had told you so, you would have swallowed it all the same, I suppose, you silly little creature!

How much antimony Flaxie took, I'm sure I don't know, but it was a great deal; and it frightens me now to think of it, for this is a true story.

"I'm a doctor's chillen; I mus' take mederson," said she, making a wry face as she found it did not taste at all "nice."

Suddenly a voice called out,—

"Where's that try-patience?"

It was Dora; she was close by the door. Flaxie threw the vial and the box behind the looking-glass, and answered, in an innocent tone,—

"Here I is!"

Of course she knew Dora meant her; for Dora never, never called anybody else a "try-patience."

"What are you up in this chair for, rummaging round in folks' bureaux?" said Dora, hugging and scolding and shaking her, all in a breath.

"I wasn't doin' nuffin," said guilty little Flaxie, pouting. "If you scold to me, Dodo, I'll make me a naughty little goorl!"

"You're always naughty, without making. There, now, come away: this room is no place for you."

"O, now I know what I camed for," said Flaxie; "it was gampa's hang-ger-fiss."

"O, lor', I found his hang-ger-fiss long ago in the dining-room. Away with you. I want to make the bed."

As Dora spoke, she kissed Flaxie; and I wonder she didn't perceive that the child's breath smelt of medicine.

"There, there, you're an old darling," said Dodo, "whatever you do."

That was the way Dora's scoldings usually ended; and Flaxie did not mind them in the least. She danced down stairs in a great hurry; for, in the front yard under the trees, her brother Preston and two other boys were swapping jack-knives, and Miss Frizzle always liked to be on the spot when any thing was going on.

The boys all smiled when they saw her coming; and Preston drew her close to his side, and straightened the lace frill in the neck of her dress. He was only eight years old; but he had always felt a great deal of care of his little sister.

"Come here, Miss Frizzle, and I'll put you in my pocket," said Bert Abbott.

"Got some canny in your poggit? If you have, I'll go," responded Flaxie, with a roguish smile.

This was considered such a bright speech that the boys, all three, turned their pockets inside out to see if they had any sweetmeats to offer. Bert Abbott found a broken tart, and Jack Snow a few peanuts. Flaxie took the "pinnuts" with a cool little nod, but the tart was not to her fancy.

"'Cause I don't like pie-grust, and that's because," said she, curling her lip as she looked at the crumbs.

"Guess you don't like 'pinnuts' either," said Jack Snow; for she was dropping the shells down Preston's back and the kernels into the grass.

"Yes, I like 'em; pinnuts is le-licious," replied Flaxie, faintly; but she was beginning to grow rather pale round the mouth.

"Come, boys," said Preston, who had not the slightest idea that any thing ailed his precious sister, "let's go and have our sail. I'll run and get Flaxie's hat."

They called it "sailing;" but it was merely rocking about in the pretty boat, called the "Trout-fly," which was moored on the bank of the brook. As the boys did not know how to swim, Dr. Gray never allowed them to unfasten the boat.

It was a lovely day. The hills were as blue as the sky, and the sky was as soft as a dream. What harm was there in having a little "sail" in that black and green "Trout-fly?" Preston thought they were doing a proper thing, and so they were; but the young passenger they took with them was soon to give them a world of trouble.

The boys had a pretty good time; but they could not make Flaxie talk: she said her "teef were tired." There was an anxious look on her face, and she never once smiled.

"What under the sun ails you?" said Preston, as she threw herself down in the bottom of the boat, with her head on his feet.

"I don' know," replied Flaxie; for she had no more remembrance of her dose of poison than a kitten has of its last saucer of cream.

"Are you sleepy?"

"No; but my eyes are."

"Let her go to sleep; don't bother her," said Jack Snow.

"Yes, I shall bother her too. She's real white; and I can't stand it," said Preston, stroking her cold cheeks in alarm.

At that Flaxie began to cry. She was not in pain, as she had been when she got the slate-pencil up her nose; but somehow she felt very unhappy.

"Guess I's goin' to die," sobbed she.

"Why, Flaxie Frizzle Gray, what do you mean by such talk as that? What do YOU know about dying?"

"O, I know 'bout it; we'll all die some day, mamma said so; guess it's some day now," gasped Flaxie, mournfully.

"That's not a pretty way to talk," said Bert Abbott. "Here, eat a raisin, Flaxie, that's a good baby."

Flaxie shut her eyes firmly, and would not touch the raisin. Preston began to feel uneasy: he had never seen his sister's rosy little face look like this before. "See here, boys," said he, "let's get out of this, and I'll carry Flaxie home to mother."

If he could only have done it! But, somehow, before he had fairly got the child in his arms, she