The Twin Cousins Part 13

"Ask Him, dear child!"

"Will He?" said Flaxie, earnestly. "Oh, yes, I know;" and her eager face fell. "But He'll have to make me homely to do it, just like Miss Pike."

"Oh, no, my darling."

"Won't He? See what a orful cole-sore I've got on my mouth. If it would stay there, and stick on always, do you s'pose I'd grow good?" asked Flaxie, thoughtfully.

Aunt Charlotte almost smiled.

"'Cause I'm willing to be a little homely,--now truly--if I can have a nice so-o-ul," added the child, with a true and deep feeling of her own naughtiness that I am sure the angels must have been glad to see.

But she was shaking the bed again, and Uncle Ben drew her gently away, and took her down stairs in his arms to finish the rest of her "crazy Christmas."

CHAPTER IX.

MILLY VISITING.

Winter pa.s.sed, spring came, and April was half over before the twin cousins met again. Then it was Milly's turn to go to Laurel Grove to see Flaxie. She had written a postal-card slowly, and with great pains, to say "she should be there to-morrow if it was pleasant."

But how it did rain! It had rained for two days as if the sky meant to pour itself away in tears; but on Wednesday the sun came rushing through the clouds, his face all aglow with smiles, and put an end to such dismal business. The rain ceased, the clouds scampered away and hid themselves, and the sky cleared up as bright as if nothing had ever been the matter.

Sweet little Milly looked out of the window, heard the birds sing, and whispered in her heart:

"Oh, how kind G.o.d is to give me a good day to go to Laurel Grove!"

She didn't own a pretty valise of brown canvas with leather straps like Flaxie's. All in the world she had was an old bandbox trunk that belonged to her mother, and she took no care of that, for Milly never "travelled alone."

"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.

It was a charming place at Dr. Gray's, and the house was full of beautiful things, such as Milly did not see at her own home; but that never made her discontented or unhappy. If G.o.d gave Flaxie prettier things than He gave her, it was because He thought best to do so, and that was enough for Milly.

"O Aunt Emily, _are_ you glad to see me?" said she, as Mrs. Gray kissed her over and over again.

"Yes, I'm just as glad as I can be, and I wish you were my own little girl," said Mrs. Gray, who had five children already.

The "little bit-of-est" one was a year old now, and didn't know Milly at all, but Phil know her and prattled away to her so fast that n.o.body else could be heard.

That afternoon she and Flaxie were in the stable, feeding Whiz with lumps of sugar, while the dog, Tantra Bogus, capered about them, giving their cheeks a "thou-sand" kisses with his long, loving tongue.

"Stop, Tantra Bogus; now we'll have to go and wash our faces," said Flaxie.

As they entered the kitchen by the outside door they met Mrs. Gray standing there talking to Preston.

"Here is a cup of jelly," said she, "and I'd like to have you take it to Sammy Proudfit."

This was Wednesday afternoon, and Preston was starting to go about half a mile up town to recite an extra lesson to his teacher, Mr. Garland.

"Oh, you're coming too, are you?" said he, looking around at Flaxie and Milly, who were skipping along behind him, drawing a handsome doll's carriage.

"Yes, we are going up on the bank to play with Blanche Jones and f.a.n.n.y Townsend: mamma said we might," replied Flaxie, dancing.

Preston was very glad of the company of two such happy little girls, only he forgot to say so.

"And we've built a house of birch bark under the trees. But it hasn't any stove-pipe!" said Flaxie, who had never forgotten that unfortunate house that Jack built.

"And we're going to have a doll's party in it," remarked Milly.

"Oh, no, not a party, it's a _reception_," corrected Flaxie; "that's what f.a.n.n.y Townsend says they call 'em in Washington. My biggest dolly, Christie Gretchen, is going to receive. Oh, you don't know how beautifully she's dressed! And all the other dollies are coming to call on her, with the cunningest little cards in their pockets."

"Oh, do your dollies play cards?"

"No, indeed; it's _visiting_ cards,--don't you know?--with their names printed on them, just like ladies. Ninny did that."

As they chattered in this way they were drawing near the Proudfit house, which stood at the foot of the hill, and little Milly sang,

"There was an old woman lived under the hill;"

Preston sang to the same tune:

"And she had a little boy who was not very ill, And he went to bed, and he lies there still."

"Why, Preston Gray, did you make that all up yourself?" cried Flaxie, amazed at his genius.

But there was no time for more poetry, even if Preston had been able to make it, for they were standing now at the door. It was an old, tumble-down house. The children called it black, and in fact it was a sort of slate-color, though it had never been painted at all, except by the sun, wind, and rain. In the road before it three dirty children were poking sand, and they looked so shabby that Milly whispered:

"I shouldn't think they'd be called _Proudfits_: they don't look very proud!"