Part 13 (2/2)

”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 Was.h.i.+ngton. 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!”

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