ndma could tell. The children came
in bringing the full odor of musk in their clothes and in their hair,
and Bertie had the little bag in his pocket. Grandma gasped and opened
all the windows, for she could not breathe the stifling air.

"Bless the dear things!" she exclaimed. "How they do smell, to be sure!"

"Smells good!" said Flora, holding out her hand for the "'fumery."

Bertie gave it to her, and as Grandma could not bear it in the house,
she was obliged to take it out of doors.

"The air is better now, isn't it, Grandma?" said Bertie, feelingly.

It was not much better, though Grandma did not say so. The small
particles were floating about, and she was inhaling them with every
breath. She passed round the tarts as speedily as possible, and then the
Little Pitchers were in a hurry to be off. But they did not carry all
the musk away; they left enough to pervade Grandma's house for several
days. But that was only a beginning. Everybody grew tired of the odor
before the skin of the musk-rat was carried away and sold. There was
musk everywhere, in doors and out; and wherever Flora was, the perfume
was sickening. But she would not give it up. She carried the little
sack, which had become dry and hard, in the pocket of her dress from
morning until night, and mamma waited in vain for her to weary of it. At
last it was banished from the house. Mamma decided that it could not
longer be endured. Flora hid it somewhere in the garden, (the place was
known only to herself and Dinah,) and every day enjoyed it as best she
could, in the open air and alone. Even Charley and Bertie were tired of
musk, and they tried first to coax and then to bribe Flora, without
success. Finally they laughed at her, and called her a little cosset.

"I ain't that," she said to Charley, who gave her the name. She always
doubted Charley. "I ain't anything but a little girl."

"And a cosset."

"No."

"You are turned out to grass, any how."

"Am I, Bertie?"

"Not exactly. We will play you are an exile."

"Well."

"She had no clear idea of an exile, nor of a cosset; but she had faith
in Bertie, and she felt that an exile must be something very nice."

"You are an exile," said Charley, "because you cannot go into Grandma's
house."

"Am I, Bertie?"

"Yes, dear."

It was true. She could not go into Grandma's house. She had to choose
between Grandma and the perfumery. But she could stay out on the
door-stone, as the musk-rat had done;