my throat _is_ growing sore, and I'm going off up-stairs to stay in
the cold, and get sick, 'cause they ought to keep steam; and _then_ I
guess auntie'll be sorry!"

I grieve to tell you this about Flaxie, for I fear you will not like a
little girl who could be so very naughty.

When the happy party of church-trimmers came home at tea-time, there she
was up-stairs in the "doleful dumps;" and it was a long while before
Milly could coax her down.

When she came at last, her face was a sight to behold--all purple, and
spotted, and striped; for a fit of crying always gave her the appearance
of measles. She consented to take a seat at table, but ate little, said
nothing, and gazed mournfully at her plate.

This distressed Aunt Charlotte, but she asked no questions, and tried to
keep Johnny talking, so he would not notice his afflicted little cousin.

"Now what _does_ make you act so?" asked Milly, as soon as tea was over.

"'Got a _cricket_ in my neck;
Can't move it a single speck,'"

replied Flaxie, not knowing she had made poetry, till Johnny, who was
supposed to be ever so far off, began to laugh; and then she moved her
neck fast enough, and shook her head, and stamped her foot.

"Let's go in the nursery, so Johnny can't plague you," said the
peace-loving Milly. "I'm so sorry you're sick."

Flaxie had not meant to speak, but she could not help talking to Milly.

"Wish I'se at home," said she, reproachfully, "'cause my mamma keeps
pepmint."

"Why, Flaxie, my mamma keeps it too. We've got lots and lots of it in
the cupboard."

"Don't care if you have," snapped Flaxie. "I just despise pepmint. It's
something else I want, and can't think of the name of; but I know you
don't keep it, for your papa isn't a doctor!"

It was not the first time Flaxie had wounded her sweet cousin's feelings
by this same cutting remark.

"Dr. Papa keeps _tittlish_ powders in blue and white papers, and one of
the papers _buzzes_. I guess he'd give me that, but I don't know," added
Flaxie, crying again harder than ever, though the tears fell like fire
on her poor, sore cheeks.

CHAPTER VIII.

A CRAZY CHRISTMAS.

"You dear little thing," said Aunt Charlotte, coming into the room with
Ken in her arms, but putting him down and taking up her naughty niece.
"You've been getting homesick all by yourself this long afternoon. Where
did you stay?"

"Stayed up-sta--irs," sobbed Flaxie.

"In the cold? Why, darling, what