trim the church. But when Flaxie came
into the parlor with her teeth chattering, Aunt Charlotte began to fear
she ought not to go out.

"Are you so very chilly, my dear?"

"Yes 'm, I am," replied Flaxie, with a doleful look around the corners
of her mouth. "This house isn't heated by steam like my house where I
live, and I'm drefful easy to freeze!" And her teeth chattered again.

Aunt Charlotte looked anxious, as she drew on her gloves.

"My child, you'd better not go to the church, for it's rather cold
there."

"Cold as a barn," put in Johnny.

"Oh, auntie, do please, lemme go! I'm cold, but it's a _warm_ cold
though," said Flaxie, eagerly; and her teeth stopped chattering.

"I'm sorry, Flaxie, but there's a chill in the air like snow, and if
your throat is sore it is much wiser for you to stay at home," said Aunt
Charlotte, gently but firmly, like a good mother who is accustomed to be
obeyed by her children.

And poor Flaxie was obliged to submit, though it cut her to the heart
when Milly gave her a light kiss and skipped away; and she did think it
was cruel in Aunt Charlotte to advise her to go into the nursery and
stay with Nancy and the baby. She wished she had never said a word about
her throat.

"It don't feel any worse'n a mosquito-bite," thought she, watching the
gay party from the window,--half a dozen ladies and as many children;
"it don't hurt me to swallow either,"--swallowing her tears.

"Hilltop's such a queer place! Not the least speck of steam in the
houses! If they had steam, you could go anywhere, if your throat _was_
sore! And I never saw anybody trim a church; and oh, Milly says they'll
have _beau_-tiful flowers, and crosses, and things! _I_ never saw
anybody trim _anything_--'cept a loaf of cake and flowers on a bonnet."

Foolish Flaxie, to stand there winking tears into her eyes! _You_ would
have known better; you would have gone into the nursery to play with
that lovely baby; but there were times, I am sorry to say, when Flaxie
really enjoyed being unhappy. So now she stood still, rolling her
little trouble over and over, as boys roll a snowball, making it larger
and larger, till presently it was as big as a mountain.

"Auntie _said_ I might go, and then she wouldn't lemme! Made me stay at
home to play with that ole baby! He's squirmy and wigglesome; what do I
want to play with _him_ for, when she _said_ I might go? I like good
aunties; I don't like the kind that tell lies.

"Oh,