"Mother," said she, "won't you give me a holiday this afternoon?"
"Why, where do you want to go, Flax?" said her mother.
"I want to go over on the mountain and hunt for wild flowers," replied
Flax.
"But I think it is going to rain, child, and you will get wet."
"That won't hurt me any, mother," said Flax, laughing.
"Well, I don't know as I care," said her mother, hesitatingly. "You
have been a very good industrious girl, and deserve a little holiday.
Only don't go so far that you cannot soon run home if a shower should
come up."
So Flax curled her flaxen hair and tied it up with a blue ribbon, and
put on her blue and white checked dress. By the time she was ready to
go the clouds over in the northwest were piled up very high and black,
and it was quite late in the afternoon. Very likely her mother would
not have let her gone if she had been at home, but she had taken the
baby, who had waked from his nap, and gone to call on her nearest
neighbor, half a mile away. As for her father, he was busy in the
garden, and all the other children were with him, and they did not
notice Flax when she stole out of the front door. She crossed the
river on a pretty arched stone bridge nearly opposite the house, and
went directly into the woods on the side of the mountain.
Everything was very still and dark and solemn in the woods.
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