eggs.'

"Then little Polly Lane said she could hunt eggs, if that was all.

"And Patty Stevens said, 'Yes, so could she; and her mother said she might have a knitting-work party if she'd have it just the way Polly did; and she was going to tell her how Polly didn't have to cook the things.'

"'I hope Polly won't begin to knit till the rest of us get started,' said Mary Jane Cullen; 'for I don't think it's fair.'

"O, I tell you, Flaxie, by that time I had begun to feel ashamed of myself; and, at seven o'clock, when my party was all over, and the girls had gone home, I felt more ashamed still. I sat down on the meal-chest in the back room where Sally was churning, and watched the dash as it moved up and down, and the cream oozed out around the little hole in the cover. She asked me if I'd had a good time. She said she thought the girls had all behaved very well.

"'Why, yes, we'd had a pretty good time,' I said, rather faintly; and I helped myself to the cream till Sally sent me off for fear I'd be down sick.

"By that time I was feeling very wretched; I did not really know why. Perhaps it was all knitting-work; and perhaps it was partly cream;—and I began to think some of it might be molasses. I went to bed, but could not go to sleep, and fell to crying all by myself in the dark. Mother heard me, and came in to ask what was the matter.

"'I want to see my little sister Abby,' said I; 'that's what I'm crying for.'

"'But you never saw your sister Abby,' said mother; 'she died before you were born.'

"'I know it, mother,' sobbed I. 'I never saw her, and that's why I want to see her now!'

"'Is that all you're crying about, Polly?' said mother. 'I'm afraid something happened wrong at your party.'

"'O mamma, I'm ashamed to tell,' said I, covering my head with the sheet. 'I guess I ate too much molasses—I—I—'

"'Well, daughter, and what else?' said mother.

"'I ate too much cream,—I—I—'

"Mother waited patiently.

"'I picked out the marking you put into my knitting-work, and I sewed in another lower down,' cried I, desperately. 'O dear, O, dear, I did. O mother, I knew you'd feel bad! Say, what shall I do?'

"Mother was so surprised and distressed that she did not speak for nearly a minute, and then she said,—

"'It was a dreadful thing, Polly. Do you think you are truly sorry?'

"'O, yes, I guess you'd think so,' sobbed I, 'if you knew how I feel right in here. It's a little speck of it molasses and cream, but most of it's knitting-work; and I want to get right up and dress myself, and go and tell the girls how I cheated.'

"'Are you willing to tell them?' asked mother.

"'Yes, I want to: 'twill choke me if I don't,' said I. 'Patty Stevens is going to have a knitting-work party, and I can tell the girls there; but seems 'sif I can't wait.'

"'If you feel like that,' said mother, 'I believe you are truly sorry. And now let us tell our Heavenly Father about it, and I know he will freely forgive you.'

"There," said Grandma Pressy, smoothing down her cap as she finished, "that's the whole story; but it is a bitter thought to me that I was ever such a naughty child."

"It's bitter to me, too," said Flaxie, making a wry face. "Won't you give me an ollinge, now, to take the taste out?"

IV.

MAKING FLAXIE HAPPY.

"We thought, in the first place, my little sister had water on the brain, her head was under water so long," explained Preston to the boys; "but she has got over it now, only dreadful cross."

It was a hard time for everybody when Flaxie was cross. She tried to sew, but her work acted "orfly;" the stitches were "cross-eyed," she said.

"I hate my padge-work," cried she, angrily; "I hate it dead!"

"Then I wouldn't sew," said kind Ninny. "Come out to the shed, and I'll swing you."

That was no better. After swinging a little while, Flaxie happened to fall off a pile of boards, and ran into the house, crying out,—

"I swang and I swang; up real high, most up to the sky. Hurt me orfly. Look at my stoggins and see'f I didn't."

"Perhaps you'd like to hear a story," said Mrs. Gray, taking the child in her lap.

"Yes, tell me a story with a long end to it. Tell about Cindrilla."

Mrs. Gray began; and, when she got as far as this,—"Cinderella asked her mother, and her mother said, 'No, Cinderella, you can't go to the party,'" then Flaxie smiled. Somehow she liked to hear about Cinderella's having a hard time: she thought she had a hard time herself. But, when the story was half done, she wanted something else.

"You don't tell good stories, mamma. I wish you'd never been made!"

"O, how can you talk so to your good mother?" said Ninny, much shocked. "You'd better tell a story yourself, and see if you can do better than she does."

"Well, mamma," returned Flaxie, "do you want me to tell a story?"

"Yes."

"Does God know I'm going to tell it?"

"Yes."

"Does He know what it is?"

"Yes."

"Did He always know?"

"Yes."

"Forever and always?"

"Yes."

"Well," said Flaxie, puckering up her lips, "I ain't a-goin' to tell it; so now what'll he fink?"

Mrs. Gray tried not to smile when Flaxie said such strange things about God; but this time Ninny laughed aloud.

"Now, Ninny, you needn't laugh to me," said Flaxie. "I'm going to be mad with you a whole week."

"What for?"

"'Cause you won't make Pep'mint Drop no boots, and that's because."

"Seems to me you scold very hard at your sister," said Grandma Pressy. "I think she is a very good sister."

Ninny was standing by the sink at that very moment, washing Peppermint Drop's stockings in a pint dipper; and Flaxie was beside her, cutting soap.

"I know what I'll do," thought Ninny, wringing the suds from her hands. "I'll see mamma alone, and ask her if she won't let Flaxie take my place, and ride to New York this afternoon. Perhaps that will make her feel better."

"And would you really like to have her go instead of you?" said Mrs. Gray, looking at Ninny's upturned face, and thinking it was one of the sweetest faces she had ever seen in her life.

"Yes'm, I should," said the little girl, earnestly. "I can't bear to have her so cross; and you can't bear it, either, mamma. It almost makes you cry."

"But will she be pleasant if she goes to ride?"

"I think so, mamma. You know she is generally pleasant when she has her own way."

And, indeed, Flaxie's little snarled-up face smoothed in a moment when she heard of the ride.

"I'll sit as still as a possible mouse," said she, dancing about her mamma. "I won't trouble papa one bit. Take off my sicking dress, Ninny, and put on my rosy-posy dress. Do it kick."

Was she sorry there was not room enough for Ninny,—good Ninny, who did so much to make her happy? O, no: Flaxie herself was to have a fine time; and that was all she thought about it.

"Let me hold the reins, Dr. Papa," said she, as soon as she had climbed into the carriage. "I can make the hossy go like a tiger."

"You must sit between your mamma and me, Mary Gray, and keep still; or I shall take you back to the