Flaxie did not hear this conversation, or she would have built various castles in the air in regard to "going to Congress." It is true, people often talked before her of the coming "election," and spoke of Dr. Gray as a "candidate;" but the words were mysterious, and soon faded out of her mind.

The snow and mud had disappeared. Dandelions were shining everywhere in the tender grass, and Ethel said, gleefully,—

"Oh, see the dandy-diddles!"

The birds burst forth into song and the trees into leaves. Flaxie pointed to the soft, fresh leaf-buds slowly unfolding, and said to her mother, "Miss Pike calls them the beautiful thoughts the trees have kept all winter shut up in their hearts. Miss Pike is so funny!"

Summer came, and by the last of June Grandpa and Grandma Curtis and Grandma Hyde arrived from Kentucky. This made three grandmothers in the house at one time. The Gray family were remarkably rich in grandmothers; and there was still another, a fourth one, who might have come if she had not been too feeble, and that was dear Grandma Pressy.

The two from Kentucky were entirely unlike, yet each in her way was excellent and charming,—tall, queenly Grandma Hyde, wearing gray silk and a turban, and always piecing together a silk patch-work quilt; roly-poly Grandma Curtis, clad entirely in black, and always knitting children's stockings with needles that clicked. But they were alike in one respect; they both remembered everything they had ever seen or heard of, and everything that had ever happened since the world began. Yes, and they were both gifted with wondrous powers of story-telling. Tiny Grandma Gray, with her sweet, low voice, had hardly a chance to speak; for the Kentucky ladies were talking morning, noon, and night.

It was delightful to hear them, and Grandma Gray listened and laughed, her white cap-strings fluttering, and said she was renewing her youth. But by-and-by it began to tire her head, for she was very delicate indeed, and she complained that she could not sleep. Still she would stay in the parlor, she enjoyed the talking so much; and Mrs. Prim came one day, and declared she should carry her off.

"You must stay with me a while and be quiet," said Mrs. Prim, who liked to manage everything, "and Mary shall come with you to take care of you."

Flaxie did not spring up and exclaim, "Oh, Auntie Prim, thank you, thank you, I'd be so glad to go!" for the truth was she did not wish to go in the least. At the same time, she felt it a high honor to be invited to Mrs. Prim's to take care of Grandma Gray. She could remember the time, not so very long ago, when she had been sent away from home because Grandma Gray could not bear the noise she made.

"I'm growing a great deal stiller and a great deal better as I grow up," thought the little girl, with a throb of pride, "but I didn't suppose Auntie Prim knew it."

"We don't like to spare our dear little Mary," said both the Kentucky grandmothers in a breath; and then Flaxie felt prouder than ever.

"Oh, she can come home every day to see you, and you will be surprised at the number of pillow-cases she will make; she always sews very steadily at my house," replied Mrs. Prim. "Run now, Mary, and get your hat."

Mrs. Prim had the finest house and grounds in Laurel Grove, but it was very still there, oh, altogether too still! The gardener never talked, except to himself, the chambermaid was rather deaf, and Kitty, the cook, did not like any one in her nice, orderly kitchen. Flaxie thought it a very dull place, except at the hours when Mr. Prim came home to his meals.

One day she sat in the parlor, sewing "over and over" upon a pillow-case. Out of doors it was a lovely June day. The trees, and grass, and birds, and flowers, were nodding at one another, and having a gay time, and Flaxie longed to be with them. But no, at "Primrose Bower," as Mr. Prim called his home, it was necessary to stay in the house; for Auntie Prim thought a little girl nine years old ought to "sew her seams," and then she might play, perhaps, if she found any time.

Strange there shouldn't be any dog at Primrose Bower, or even a cat; but Grandma Gray was there, and that was a comfort. The more Flaxie waited upon the silver-haired, sweet-voiced, fairy grandmother, the better she loved her; only dear Grandma Gray was always going to sleep on the sofa, and then you had to keep still enough to hear a pin drop for fear of waking her up.

"Well," said Auntie Prim, coming into the parlor with her bonnet on, "I gave you work enough to last a good while, didn't I, Mary?"

"Yes, 'm, ever so long," replied Flaxie, with a sorrowful glance at the pillow-case.

"So you won't mind staying in the house with grandma, will you? I'm going to the stores to buy a calico dress and various things; but when I come back you may run home, and stay as long as you like."

"Yes, 'm," said Flaxie, meekly.

She thought Auntie Prim spent a good deal of time at the stores, and was afraid if she bought "various things" it would be pretty late by the time she came back; and Flaxie did want to ask Grandma Curtis a few questions about Venus, the colored girl who lived at her house in Kentucky, and she wanted a ride before dark on Preston's pony.

"Let me see," said Auntie Prim, thoughtfully, "perhaps it would be better for you to promise me not to leave this room while I'm gone. You mean well, Mary, but you're so fond of running! Yes, on account of Grandma Gray, I think I should feel easier if you were to make me a promise."

"Yes, 'm, I will promise! I'll stay right here. I'll not go out of this room," replied Flaxie, so sweetly that Mrs. Prim never suspected the child's sensitive pride was wounded.

"She thinks I'm a horrid little girl. She thinks I'm just awful," said Flaxie to herself, as she looked out of the window and watched her aunt walking away with a gray-fringed parasol in one hand and a shopping-bag in the other. "My mamma would have trusted me without any promise! She'd know I wouldn't run off and leave Grandma Gray!" Very soon Grandma Gray came in and said she was going to try to get a nap on the sofa, and hoped Flaxie would keep pretty still. "Yes, 'm," sighed Flaxie; and after this she breathed as softly as possible for fear of making a noise.

Grandma was asleep in two minutes, with her handkerchief over her eyes, and that made the room seem more lonesome than ever. Outside a stray cat came and sat on the window-sill, begging to come in; and as she opened her mouth to mew, she looked, Flaxie thought, like a wee, wee old lady, whose little teeth were more than half gone. Flaxie loved cats; why not let her in?

But no! The window had a fly-screen, and besides, Auntie Prim didn't approve of cats. "It's no, no, no, all the time. I don't like Primrose Bower," thought poor Flaxie, dropping her work and stealing on tiptoe to the mantel, to smell the flowers in the bronze vase.

They were lovely roses and lilies, but they looked as if they longed to be out of doors, where they could bend their tired heads. The chairs seemed rather uncomfortable, too, standing up so stiff and straight against the gilded walls. Even the gilded fireboard looked as if it was set in the fireplace very hard, and had no hope of ever coming out.

"Oh, it's so still here, and so shut up! I wish there was something alive in the room," thought the little sewing-girl, going back to her task.

She did not know that close behind her there was something alive—dreadfully alive—a cross, disappointed, hungry bee! How had he got there, into that shut-up room where even the little flies never dared come?

But there he was, and he would not go away without doing mischief. Perhaps he had had some family trouble, which had soured his temper; or perhaps he mistook Flaxie for a new variety of blush rose, of great size and sweetness. At any rate, he flew straight toward her, and without the least ceremony stung her on the wrist. Poor Flaxie! Was it not rather severe? Particularly as she dared not scream. "I must scream, I will scream," she thought in agony; "I will, I will!"

But no. For grandma was fast asleep. She must not wake grandma, though the sky should fall.

"I'll run out-doors. I'll run home to mamma. I must go where I can scream."

But no! She couldn't even go into the entry. Hadn't she promised? And you must know Flaxie belonged to the sort of little girls who hold a promise to be as sacred as the oath of a queen.

So she stayed where she was, and bore the anguish in silence. She could not possibly help hopping up and down, but she hopped softly; she could not help groaning, but she groaned in whispers; she could not keep the tears back, but she sobbed them noiselessly into her handkerchief. I don't know what you think of this, little reader, but I think it was truly grand and heroic.

Are you nine years old, and have you ever borne the sting of a bee, or the drawing of a tooth, without uttering a sound? Ah, you have! Then I would like to see you, and shake hands!

Grandma Gray woke presently, and saw Flaxie shaking with sobs, her head buried in the cushion of Uncle Prim's chair. You may be sure she was not long in learning what the matter was, and in calling Kitty from the kitchen to bathe the poor puffed wrist with arnica.

"Ah, thin, and a bee always knows what is swate," said Irish Kate, bathing the wrist softly.

"The blessed little darling!" murmured grandma, not referring, of course, to the bee. "To think you shouldn't have made one bit of noise to disturb your grandmother! I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd screamed with all your might."

"But, grandma, I promised you I wouldn't make a noise."

"So you did, precious child. I forgot that."

"And I promised Auntie Prim I'd stay in this room. Oh, how I did want to go out and scream!"

"Little Mary," said gentle Grandma Gray, taking Flaxie in her arms, "I'm proud of you, my dear!"

"Ah, wasn't it worth all Flaxie had suffered to hear such words as these? When had anybody been proud of her before?"

The pain was over, but the little wrist was still "a sight to behold" when Auntie Prim came home with her calico dress and "various things" in her bag; and grandma said, in a ringing voice,—

"Mrs. Prim, we have a little girl here who is quite a heroine. Yes, a heroine, I say!"

"Do you mean our little Mary? Why, what has she done?" asked auntie, coolly, as she put away her bonnet and parasol. But she wasn't quite so cool after she had heard the story.

"Why, you good, high-minded little girl! A grown woman couldn't have been braver," said she, and actually kissed Flaxie.

"It is a great pity I bound you by a promise; I needn't have done it. Some little girls can be trusted without any promises," she added, looking at grandma with an approving smile.

Flaxie blushed for joy. She had always had a vague feeling of being looked down upon by Auntie Prim, as a wild little girl who was "so fond of running"; and now to have this stern, good woman praise her so!

"But," said auntie, unrolling the dotted brown calico and laying it across her lap, "how came that bee in here, with the doors shut and the fly-screens all in?"

As she spoke, two bees buzzed and circled slowly above her head. In her surprise I must confess Mrs. Prim screamed. Flaxie was delighted. Mrs. Prim, however, was a little ashamed, for the minister, Mr. Lee, at that moment entered the door.

"Ah, what's this?" said he, laughing; "are you hiding away my bees?"

"Your bees?" cried Mrs. Prim; and she looked up at Mr. Lee, who stood, hat in hand, his bald head shining, as Flaxie had once fancied, like the ivory ball on Julia's parasol.

"Yes, ma'am, my bees! They swarmed this afternoon, and your gardener told me he suspected some of them had come down here, and settled in your chimney. He saw them flying over the roof of the house."

Mrs. Prim was a good woman, and had a high respect for her pastor. It seemed very strange and very improper that she should set a trap for his bees; but she laughed, and they all laughed, and she said Stillwater, the gardener, should go out on the roof through the sky-window, and look down the parlor chimney, and see what was going on inside.

Stillwater did so, and reported that a fine family of bees had begun housekeeping in the chimney.

"Yes," said Mr. Prim, who came in just then, "and they are making themselves too much at home altogether! Why, they think they have a right not only to the chimney, but to the whole parlor, and mean to creep out around the edges of the fireboard, and peep at us whenever they choose.

"But they needn't have stung my good little Mary, and they must not sting her again," said Mr. Lee, patting her head. He had been very much pleased of late by Flaxie's attentive behavior at church; and he thought now, as he looked at her fine young face, that she was improving faster in character than any other little girl he knew in Laurel Grove.

And to prevent further mischief from the bees, the fireboard was fastened in very firmly. Uncle Prim did this with little wads of gilt paper; and even Auntie Prim, who was so particular, declared no one could have made it look better.

"I'm glad you like my beehive, ladies," said Uncle Prim, with a low bow. "And now I hope the bees will do their duty, and fill it with the very nicest honey, from the very sweetest flowers that grow in Primrose garden; and Mr. Lee is heartily welcome to every drop!"

"Thank you, sir," returned Mr. Lee, "but if the honey is going to belong to me, I shall take pleasure in presenting it to little Mary. She has well earned it by being such a martyr this afternoon."

Flaxie had no clear idea what a martyr meant, but was sure from Mr. Lee's tone it must be something he approved. Therefore, she ran home in the finest spirits, to relate the stirring events of the afternoon to her family, and the two admiring grandmothers.

"And mamma," asked she, as soon as she saw her mother alone, "may I give the honey to Sadie Stockwell next Christmas? Let me go my own self, please, with Blackdrop and the little sleigh, and carry it."

"Perhaps so, my dear. But it is quite uncertain where you will be next Christmas," replied Mrs. Gray, who had strong reason to think she might be in Washington.

Flaxie, however, had forgotten all about Washington. "Oh, perhaps I'm going to Hilltop," thought she. "But that wouldn't be quite so splendid as to have Milly come to my house. If she can come to my house next winter, and go to school to Miss Pike in the pink chamber, I'll be perfectly happy."

The little girl's dreams that night were of going to some wonderful country she had never seen before. It must have been somewhere in fairyland, for