easy. She was only six years old, but
she knew perfectly well when her actions were right and when they were
wrong.

"I never saw such a splendid visit," said she, when Mr. Proudfit kindly
allowed her and Patty to feed the pigs. "But _don't_ they have the
awfullest-looking smell?" added she, gazing thoughtfully into the pen,
which was dirty, like everything else about the place. Her own nice
frock was already soiled, but she tried not to see it, and not to think
how Auntie Prim would stare at it through her spectacles.

"Why, what's that?" said she.

It was, oh dear! it was the bell; and there was Mrs. Proudfit at the
back door ringing it. Grown people are always thinking what time it is;
they never forget.

"I'm sorry you can't stay to tea, Miss Flaxie," said Mrs. Proudfit,
politely.

"Oh, I guess I can; I'll go ask grammy," replied the little girl,
dashing off up the hill, followed by Patty.

"Oh, grammy, they want me to stay _orf'ly_," she cried, out of breath,
before they got to the house.

"Well, stay another hour, then," said the dear grandma, though baby was
very cross and her arms ached, and Flaxie could have been _such_ a help.

So Flaxie went back and stayed another hour, and _then_ it wasn't
tea-time. She could see some blue and white dishes spread on a round
table covered with an oil-cloth, and she could smell gingerbread baking
in the oven, which made her very hungry; and just as Mrs. Proudfit was
opening a can of preserves, with at least six children clinging to her
skirts, who should come but Preston, to say it was half-past five and
Flaxie was wanted at home.

"So you can't stay to tea, after all," said Mrs. Proudfit, putting a
small covered dish on the table. What in the world could be in it?

Flaxie dropped her head and blushed. "Oh, yes'm, I can stay. I've sent
Preston home, and locked the door!"

Mrs. Proudfit smiled into the oven as she looked at her gingerbread, and
thought--of course she did--that Flaxie Frizzle was a very queer child.

It did seem as if that gingerbread never would bake! A cloud came up,
the wind blew, the baby cried so Patty couldn't play, the children
quarrelled, and the kitten ran round in a fit.

Nothing seemed half as nice as it had seemed an hour ago; and when
supper was ready, that gingerbread was burnt, and, as true as you live,
the preserves were sour! There was nothing in the little covered dish
but cheese, which Flaxie "despised;" and she wished she had