Phronsie shut the door of the lumber-room, and with a great sigh realized that she had with her own hand cut herself off from the gay life below stairs.
"But they are not so very far off," she said, "and I shall soon be down again," as she made her way across the room and opened the closet door.
A little mouse scurried along the shelf and dropped to the floor. Phronsie peered into the darkness within, her small heart beating fearfully as she held the knob in her hand.
"There may be more," she said irresolutely. "I suppose he wouldn't live up here all alone. Please go away, mousie, and let me get the box."
For answer there was a scratching and nibbling down in the corner that held more terrors for the anxious ears than an invading army.
"I must go in," said Phronsie, "and bring out the box. Please, good mouse, go away for one moment; then you may come back and stay all day."
But the shadowy corner only gave back the renewed efforts of the sharp little teeth; so at last, Phronsie, plucking up courage, stepped in. The door swung to after her, giving out a little click, unnoticed in her trepidation as she picked her way carefully along, holding her red gown away from any chance nibbles. It was a low narrow closet, unlighted save by a narrow latticed window, in the ceiling, for the most part filled with two lines of shelves running along the side and one end. Phronsie caught her breath as she went in, the air was so confined; and stumbling over in the dim light, put her hand on the box desired, a small black affair, easily found, as it was the only one there.
"I will take it out into the lumber-room; then I can get the velvet roll," and gathering it up within her arms, she speedily made her way back to the door.
"Why"—another pull at the knob; but with the same result, and Phronsie, setting the box on the floor, still with thoughts only of the mouse, put both hands to the task of opening the door.
"It sticks, I suppose, because no one comes up here only once in a great while," she said in a puzzled way. "I ought to be able to pull it open, I'm sure, for I am so big and strong." She exerted all her strength till her face was like a rose. The door was fast. Phronsie turned a despairing look upon the shadowy corner.
"Please don't bite me," she said, the large tears gathering in her brown eyes. "I am locked in here in your house; but I didn't want to come, and I won't do anything to hurt you if you'll let me sit down and wait till somebody comes to let me out."
Meanwhile Mrs. Chatterton shook out her black satin gown complacently, and with a satisfied backward glance at the mirror, sailed off to her own apartments.
"Madame," exclaimed Hortense breathlessly, meeting her within the door, "de modiste will not send de gown; you must"—
"Will not send it?" repeated her mistress in a passion. "A pretty message to deliver. Go back and get it at once."
"She say de drapery—de tournure all wrong, and she must try it on again," said the maid, glad to be defiant, since the dressmaker supported her.
"What utter nonsense! Yet I suppose I must go, or the silly creature will have it ruined. Take off this gown, Hortense, and bring my walking suit, then ring and say I'd like to have Thomas take me down there at once," and throwing off her bracelets, and the various buckles and pins that confined her laces, she rapidly disrobed and was expeditiously inducted by Hortense into her walking apparel, and, a parlor maid announcing that Thomas with the coupe was at the door, she hurried downstairs, with no thought for anything beyond a hasty last charge to her maid.
"Where's Phronsie?" cried Polly, rushing into Mother Fisher's room; "O dear me, my hair won't stay straight," pushing the rebellious waves out of her eyes.
"It looks as if a brush wouldn't do it any harm," observed MotherFisher critically.
"O dear, dear! well, I've brushed and brushed, but it does no good," said Polly, running over to the mirror; "some days, Mamsie, no matter what I do, it flies all ways."
"Good work tells generally," said her mother, pausing on her way to the closet for a closer inspection of her and her head; "you haven't taken as much pains, Polly, lately with your hair; that is the trouble."
"Well, I'm always in such a hurry," mourned Polly, brushing furiously on the refractory locks. "There, will you stay down?" to a particularly rebellious wave.
"One at a time is the best way to take things," said Mrs. Fisher dryly. "When you dress yourself, Polly, I'd put my mind on that, if I were you."
With that, she disappeared within the closet.
"O dear, I suppose so," sighed Polly, left to her own reflections and brushing away. "Well, that's the best I can make it look now, for I can't do the braid over. Where is Phronsie, I wonder! Mamsie," she threw down the brush and ran over to put her head in the closet, "where did she go?"
"I told her she might run over to Helen Fargo's, right after breakfast," said Mrs. Fisher, her head over a trunk, from which she was taking summer dresses. "Polly, I think you'll get one more season's wear out of this pink cambric."
"Oh! I am so glad," cried Polly, "for I had such splendidly good times in it," with a fond glance at the pink folds and ruffles. "Well, if Phronsie is over at Helen's, there's no use in asking her to go down town with us."
"Where are you going?" asked Mrs. Fisher, extricating one of Phronsie's white gowns from its winter imprisonment.
"Down to Candace's," said Polly. "Jasper wants some more pins for his cabinet. No, I don't suppose Phronsie would tear herself away from Helen for all the down-towns in the world."
"You would better let her stay where she is," advised Mother Fisher; "she hasn't been over to Helen's for quite a while, so it's a pity to call her away," and she turned to her unpacking again, while Polly ran off on the wings of the wind, in a tremor at having kept Jasper waiting so long.
"Candace" was the widow of an old colored servant of Mr. King's; she called herself a "relict;" that, and the pride in her little shop, made her hold her turbaned head high in the air, while a perennial smile enwreathed her round face.
The shop was on Temple Place, a narrow extension thrown out from one of the city's thoroughfares. She was known for a few specialties; such as big sugary doughnuts that appealed alike to old and young. They were always fresh and sweet, with just the proper amount of spice to make them toothsome; and she made holders of various descriptions, with the most elaborate patterns wrought always in yellow worsted; with several other things that the ladies protested could never be found elsewhere. Jasper had been accustomed to run down to Candace's little shop, since pinafore days, when he had been taken there by his nurse, and set upon a high stool before the small counter, and plied with dainties by the delighted Candace.
"The first thing I can remember," he had often told Polly, "is Candace taking out huge red and white peppermint drops, from the big glass jar in the window, and telling me to hold out both hands."
And after the "pinafore days" were over, Candace was the boy's helper in all his sports where a woman's needle could stitch him out of any difficulty. She it was who made the sails to his boats, and marvelous skate bags. She embroidered the most intricate of straps for his school-books, and once she horrified him completely by working in red cotton, large "J's" on two handkerchiefs. He stifled the horror when he saw her delight in presenting the gift, and afterwards was careful to remember to carry a handkerchief occasionally when on an errand to the shop.
Latterly Candace was occupied in preparing pins for Jasper's cabinet, out of old needles that had lost their eyes. She cleverly put on red and black sealing wax heads, turning them out as round as the skillful manipulation of deft fingers could make them. In this new employment, the boy kept her well occupied, many half-dollars thereby finding their way into her little till.
"I wish Phronsie had come," said Polly, as she and Jasper sorted the pins in the little wooden tray Candace kept for the purpose. "How many red ones you will have, Jasper—see—fifteen; well, they're prettier than the others."
"Ef little Miss had come wid you," said Candace, emerging from the folds of a chintz curtain that divided the shop from the bedroom, "she'd 'a' seen my doll I made for her. Land! but it's a beauty."
"Oh, Candace!" exclaimed Polly, dropping the big pin she held, and allowing it to roll off the counter to the floor. "What a pity we didn't bring her! Do let us see the doll."
"She's a perfec' beauty!" repeated Candace in satisfaction, "an' I done made her all myself fer de little Miss," and she dodged behind the curtain again, this time bringing out a large rag doll with surprising black bead eyes, a generous crop of wool on its head, and a red worsted mouth.
"Dat's my own hair," said Candace, pointing to the doll's head with pride, "so I know it's good; an' ain't dat mouf pretty?"
"Oh, Candace!" exclaimed Polly, seizing the doll, and skillfully evading the question, "what a lovely dress—and the apron is a dear"—
"Ain't it?" said Candace, her black face aglow with delight. "Ole Miss gimme dat yeller satin long ago, w'en I belonged to her befo' de war. An' dat yere apun was a piece of ole Miss's night-cap. She used to have sights of 'em, and dey was all ruffled like to kill, an' made o' tambour work."
Polly had already heard many times the story of Madame Carroll's night-caps, so she returned to the subject of the doll's beauty as a desirable change.
"Do you want us to take this to Phronsie?" she asked. "Jasper, won't she be delighted?"
"Land, no!" cried Candace, recovering the doll in alarm; "I'd never sleep a week o' nights ef I didn't put dat yere doll into dat bressed child's arms."
"Then I'll tell Phronsie to come over to-morrow," said Polly. "Shall I,Candace?"
"Yes," said Candace, "you tell her I got somefin' fer her; don't you tell her what, an' send her along."
"All right," said Jasper. "Just imagine Phronsie's eyes when she sees that production. Candace, you've surpassed yourself."
"You go 'long!" exclaimed Candace, in delight, and bestowing a gentle pat of deprecation on his shoulder, "'tain't like what I could do; but la! well, you send de bressed chile along, and mabbe she'll like it."
"Jasper, we'll stop at Helen's now," said Polly as the two hurried by the tall iron fence, that, lined with its thick hedge, shut out the Fargo estate from vulgar eyes, "and get Phronsie; she'll be ready to come home now; it's nearly luncheon time."
"All right," said Jasper; so the two ran over the carriage drive to a side door by which the King family always had entree.
"Is Phronsie ready to come home?" asked Polly of the maid. "Tell her to hurry and get her things on; we'll wait here. Oh, Jasper!" turning to him, "why couldn't we have the club next week, Wednesday night?"
"Miss Mary," said the maid, interrupting, "what do you mean? I haven't seen Miss Phronsie to-day."
Polly whirled around on the step and looked at her.
"Oh! she's upstairs in the nursery, playing with Helen, I suppose.Please ask her to hurry, Hannah."
"No, she isn't, Miss Mary," said Hannah. "I've been sweeping the nursery this morning; just got through." She pointed to her broom and dustpan that she had set in a convenient corner, as proof of her statement.
"Well, she's with Helen somewhere," said Polly, a little impatiently.
"Yes; find Helen, and you have the two," broke in Jasper. "Just have the goodness, Hannah, to produce Helen."
"Miss Helen isn't home," said Hannah. "She went to Greenpoint yesterday with Mrs. Fargo to spend Sunday."
"Why," exclaimed Polly in bewilderment, "Mamsie said she told Phronsie right after breakfast that she could come over here."
"She hasn't been here," said the maid positively. "I know for certain sure, Miss Mary. Has she, Jane?" appealing to another maid coming down the hall.
"No," said Jane. "She hasn't been here for ever so many days."
"Phronsie played around outside probably," said Jasper quickly; "anyway, she's home now. Come on, Polly. She'll run out to meet us."
"Oh, Jasper! do you suppose she will?" cried Polly, unable to stifle an undefinable dread. She was running now on frightened feet, Jasper having hard work to keep up with her, and the two dashed through the little gate in the hedge where Phronsie was accustomed to let herself through on the only walk she was ever allowed to take alone, and into the house where Polly cried to the first person she met, "Where's Phronsie?" to be met with what she dreaded, "Gone over to Helen Fargo's."
And now there was indeed alarm through the big house. Not knowing where to look, each fell in the other's way, quite as much concerned for Mr. King's well-being; for the old gentleman was reduced to such a state by the fright that the entire household had all they could do to keep him in bounds.
"Madame is not to come home to luncheon," announced Hortense to Mrs. Whitney in the midst of the excitement. "She told me to tell you that de Mees Taylor met her at de modiste, and took her home with her."
Mrs. Whitney made no reply, but raised her eyes swollen with much crying, to the maid's face.
"Hortense, run as quickly as possible down to Dr. Fisher's office, and tell him to come home."
"Thomas should be sent," said Hortense, with a toss of her head. "It's not de work for me. Beside I am Madame's maid."
"Do you go at once," commanded Mrs. Whitney, with a light in her blue eyes that the maid never remembered seeing. She was even guilty of stamping her pretty foot in the exigency, and Hortense slowly gathered herself up.
"I will go, Madame," with the air of conferring a great favor, "only I do not such t'ings again."
"I am glad that you agree with me." Mrs. Chatterton bestowed a complacent smile upon the company.
"But we don't in the least agree with you," said Madame Dyce, her stiff brocade rustling impatiently in the effort to put her declaration before the others, "not in the least."
"Ah? Well, you must allow that I have good opportunities to judge. The Pepper entanglement can be explained only by saying that my cousin's mental faculties are impaired."
"The rest of the family are afflicted in the same way, aren't they?" remarked Hamilton Dyce nonchalantly.
"Humph! yes." Mrs. Chatterton's still shapely shoulders allowed themselves a shrug intended to reveal volumes. "What Jasper Horatio King believes, the rest of the household accept as law and gospel. But it's no less infatuation."
"I'll not hear one word involving those dear Peppers," cried Madame Dyce. "If I could, I'd have them in my house. And it's a most unrighteous piece of work, in my opinion, to endeavor to arouse prejudice against them. It goes quite to my heart to remember their struggles all those years."
Mrs. Chatterton turned on her with venom. Was all the world arrayed against her, to take up with those hateful interlopers in her cousin's home? She made another effort. "I should have credited you with more penetration into motives than to allow yourself to be deceived by such a woman as Mrs. Pepper."
"Do give her the name that belongs to her. I believe she's Mrs. Dr. Fisher, isn't she?" drawled Livingston Bayley, a budding youth, with a moustache that occasioned him much thought, and a solitary eyeglass.
"Stuff and nonsense! Yes, what an absurd thing that wedding was. Did anybody ever hear or see the like!" Mrs. Chatterton lifted her long jeweled hands in derision, but as no one joined in the laugh, she dropped them slowly into her lap.
"I don't see any food for scorn in that episode," said the youth with the moustache. "Possibly there will be another marriage there before many years. I'm sweet on Polly."
Mrs. Chatterton's face held nothing but blank dismay. The rest shouted.
"You needn't laugh, you people," said the youth, setting his eyeglass straight, "that girl is going to make a sensation, I tell you, when she comes out. I'm going to secure her early."
"Not a word, mind you, about Miss Polly's preferences," laughedHamilton Dyce aside to Miss Mary.
"'Tisn't possible that she could be anything but fascinated, of course," Mary laughed back.
"Of course not. The callow youth knows his power. Anybody else in favor of the Peppers?" aloud, and looking at the company.
"Don't ask us if we like the Peppers," cried two young ladies simultaneously. "They are our especial and particular pets, every one of them."
"The Peppers win," said Hamilton Dyce, looking full into Mrs. Chatterton's contemptuous face. "I'm glad to record my humble self as their admirer. Now"—
"Well, pa!" Mary could not refrain from interrupting as her father suddenly appeared in the doorway.
"I can't sit down," he said, as the company made way for him to join them. "I came home for some important papers. I suppose you have heard the trouble at the Kings? I happened to drop in there. Well, Dyce," laying his hand on that gentleman's chair, "I scarcely expected to see you here to-day. Why aren't you at the club spread?"
"Cousin Horatio! I suppose he's had a paralytic attack," interruptedMrs. Chatterton, with her most sagacious air.
"What's the trouble up there?" queried Mr. Dyce, ignoring the question thrust at him.
"It's the little beauty—Phronsie," said Mr. Taylor.
"Nothing's happened to that child I hope!" cried Madame Dyce, paling.
"Now, Mr. Taylor, you are not going to harrow our feelings by telling us anything has harmed that lovely creature," exclaimed the two young ladies excitedly.
"Phronsie can't be found," said Mr. Taylor.
"Can't be found!" echoed all the voices, except Mrs. Chatterton's. She ejaculated "Ridiculous!"
Hamilton Dyce sprang to his feet and threw down his napkin. "Excuse me, Miss Taylor. Come, Bayley, now is the time to show our devotion to the family. Let us go and help them out of this."
Young Bayley jumped lightly up and stroked his moustache like a man of affairs. "All right, Dyce. Bon jour, ladies."
"How easily a scene is gotten up," said Mrs. Chatterton, "over a naughty little runaway. I wish some of the poor people in this town could have a tithe of the attention that is wasted on these Peppers," she added virtuously.
Madame Dyce turned uneasily in her seat, and played with the almonds on her plate. "I think we do best to reserve our judgments," she said coolly. "I don't believe Phronsie has run away."
"Of course she has," asserted Mrs. Chatterton, in that positive way that made everybody hate her to begin with. "She was all right this morning when I left home. Where else is she, if she hasn't run away, pray tell?"
Not being able to answer this, no one attempted it, and the meal ended in an uncomfortable silence.
Driving home a half-hour later, in a cab summoned for that purpose, Mrs. Chatterton threw off her things, angry not to find Hortense at her post in the dressing-room, where she had been told to finish a piece of sewing, and not caring to encounter any of the family in their present excitement, she determined to take herself off upstairs, where "I can kill two birds with one stone; get rid of everybody, and find my box myself, because of course that child ran away before she got it."
So she mounted the stairs laboriously, counting herself lucky indeed in finding the upper part of the house quite deserted, and shutting the lumber-room door when she was well within it, she proceeded to open the door of the closet.
"Hortense didn't tell me there was a spring lock on this door," she exclaimed, with an impatient pull. "Oh! good heavens." She had nearly stumbled over Phronsie Pepper's little body, lying just where it fell when hope was lost.
"I have had nothing to do with it," repeated Mrs. Chatterton to herself, following Mr. King and Jasper as they bore Phronsie downstairs, her yellow hair floating from the pallid little face. "Goodness! I haven't had such a shock in years. My heart is going quite wildly. The child probably went up there for something else; I am not supposed to know anything about it."
"Is she dead?" cried Dick, summoned with the rest of the household by Mrs. Chatterton's loud screams, and quite beside himself, he clambered up the stairs to get in every one's way.
Mrs. Chatterton, with an aimless thrust of her long jeweled hands, pushed him one side. And Dick boiled over at that.
"What are you here for?" he cried savagely. "You don't love her. You would better get out of the way." And no one thought to reprove him.
Polly was clinging to the post at the foot of the stairs. "I shall die if Phronsie is dead," she said. Then she looked at Mother Fisher, waiting for her baby.
"Give her to me!" said Phronsie's mother, holding out imperative arms.
"You would better let us carry her; well put her in your bed. Only get the doctor." Mr. King was almost harsh as he endeavored to pass her. But before the words were over his lips, the mother held her baby.
"Mamsie," cried Polly, creeping over to her like a hurt little thing, "I don't believe but that she'll be all right. God won't let anything happen to our Phronsie. He couldn't, Mamsie."
Dr. Fisher met them at the door. Polly never forgot the long, slow terror that clutched at her heart as she scanned his face while he took the child out of the arms that now yielded up their burden. And everything turned dark before her eyes—Was Phronsie dead?
But there was Mamsie. And Polly caught her breath, beat back the faintness, and helped to lay Phronsie on the big bed.
"Clearly I have had nothing to do with it," said Mrs. Chatterton to herself, stumbling into a room at the other end of the hall. But her face was gray, and she found herself picking nervously at the folds of lace at her throat. "The child went up there, as all children will, to explore. I shall say nothing about it—nothing whatever. Oh! how is she?" grasping blindly at Jasper as he rushed by the door.
"Still unconscious"—
"Stuff and—oh! well," muttering on. "She'll probably come to. Children can bear a little confinement; an hour or two doesn't matter with them—Hortense!" aloud, "bring me my sal volatile. Dear me! this is telling on my nerves." She caught sight of her face in the long mirror opposite, and shivered to see how ghastly it was. "Where is the girl? Hortense, I say, come here this instant!"
A maid, summoned by her cries, put her head in the door. "Hadn't you better go into your own room, Mrs. Chatterton?" she said, in pity at the shaking figure and blanched face.
"No—no," she sharply repulsed her. "Bring Hortense—where is that girl?" she demanded passionately.
"She's crying," said the maid, her own eyes filling with tears. "I'll help you to your room."
"Crying?" Madame Chatterton shrieked. "She's paid to take care of me; what right has she to think of anything else?"
"She says she was cross to Phronsie once—though I don't see how she could be, and—and—now that she's going to die, she"—and the maid burst into tears and threw her apron over her face.
"Die—she shan't! What utter nonsense everybody does talk in this house!" Madame Chatterton seized her arm, the slender fingers tightening around the young muscles, and shook her fiercely.
The maid roused by her pain out of her tears looked in affright into the gray face above her. "Let me go," she cried. "Oh! madame, you hurt me."
"Give me air," said Madame Chatterton, her fingers relaxing, and making a great effort not to fall. "Help me over to the window, and open it, girl"—and leaning heavily on the slight figure, she managed to get across the room.
"There—now," drawing a heavy breath as she sank into a chair and thrust her ashen face out over the sill, "do you go and find out how the child is. And come back and tell me at once."
"Madame, I'm afraid to leave you alone," said the girl, looking at her.
"Afraid? I'm not so old but that I can take care of myself," said Mrs. Chatterton with a short laugh. "Go and do as I tell you," stamping her foot.
"Still unconscious"—
Would no one ever come near her but this detestable maid, with her still more detestable news? Mrs. Chatterton clutched the window casing in her extremity, not feeling the soft springy air as she gasped for breath. The maid, too frightened to leave her, crept into a corner where she watched and cried softly.
There was a stir in the household that they might have heard, betokening the arrival of two other doctors, but no word came. And darkness settled upon the room. Still the figure in the window niche held to its support, and still the maid cried at her post.
As the gray of the twilight settled over the old stone mansion,Phronsie moved on her pillow.
"Dear mouse,"—the circle of watchers around the bed moved closer,—"I'll go away when some one comes to open the door."
"Hush!" Dr. Fisher put his hand over the mother's lips.
"Don't please bite me very hard. I won't come up again to your house.Oh! where's Grandpapa?"
Old Mr. King put his head on his hands, and sobbed aloud.
The little white face moved uneasily.
"Grandpapa always comes when I want him," in piteous tones.
"Father," said Jasper, laying a hand on the bowed shoulders, "you would better come out. We'll call you when she comes to herself."
But Mr. King gave no sign of hearing.
A half-hour ticked slowly away, and Phronsie spoke again. "It's growing dark, and I suppose they will never come. Dear mouse"—the words died away and she seemed to sleep.
"I shall not tell," Mrs. Chatterton was saying to herself in the other room; "what good could it do? Oh! this vile air is stifling. Will no one come to say she is better?" And so the night wore on.
As morning broke, Phronsie opened her eyes, and gave a weak little cry. Polly sprang from her knees at the foot of the bed, and staggered toward the child.
"Don't!" cried Jasper, with a hand on her arm.
"Let her alone," said Dr. Fisher quickly.
"Oh, Polly!" Phronsie raised herself convulsively on the bed. "You did come—you did!" winding her little arms around Polly's neck. "Has the mouse gone?"
"Yes, yes," said Polly as convulsively; "he's all gone, Phronsie, and I have you fast; just see. And I'll never let you go again."
"Never?" cried Phronsie, straining to get up further into Polly's arms.
"No dear; I'll hold you close just as long as you need me."
"And he won't come again?"
"He can't Phronsie; because, you see, I have you now."
"And the door will open, and I'll have Mamsie and dear Grandpapa?"
"Yes, yes, my precious one," began Mr. King, getting out of the large arm-chair into which they had persuaded him.
"Don't do it. Stay where you are," said Dr. Fisher, stopping him half-way across the room.
"But Phronsie wants me; she said so," exclaimed old Mr. King hoarsely, and trying to push his way past the doctor. "Why, man, don't stop me."
Dr. Fisher planted his small body firmly in front of the old gentleman."You must obey me."
Obey? When had Mr. King heard that word addressed to himself. He drew a long breath, looked full into the spectacled eyes, then said, "All right, Fisher; I suppose you know best," and went back to his arm-chair.
"I'm so tired, Polly," Phronsie was saying, and the arms, Polly could feel, were dropping slowly from her neck.
"Are you, Pet? Well, now, I'll tell you what we'll do. Let us both go to sleep. There, Phronsie, now you put your arms down, so"—Polly gave them a swift little tuck under the bed-clothes—"and I'll get up beside you, so"—and she crept on to the bed—"and we'll both go right to 'nid-nid-nodland,' don't you know?"
"You're sure you won't let me go?" whispered Phronsie, cuddling close, and feeling for Polly's neck again.
"Oh! just as sure as I can be," declared Polly cheerfully, while the tears rained down her cheek in the darkness.
"I feel something wet," said Phronsie, drawing back one hand. "What is it, Polly?"
"Oh! that," said Polly with a start. "Oh—well, it's—well, I'm crying, Phronsie; but I'm so glad—oh! you don't know how glad I am, sweet," and she leaned over and kissed her.
"If you're glad," said Phronsie weakly, "I don't care. But please don't cry if you are not glad, Polly."
"Well, now we're fixed," said Polly as gaily as she could. "Give me your hand, Pet. There, now, good-night."
"Good-night," said Phronsie. Polly could feel her tucking the other hand under her cheek on the pillow, and then, blessed sound—the long quiet breathing that told of rest.
"Oh! better, is she?" Mrs. Chatterton looked up quickly to see Mrs. Whitney's pale face. "Well, I supposed she would be. I thought I'd sit here and wait to know, since you were all so frightened. But I knew it wouldn't amount to much. Now, girl," nodding over to the maid still in the corner, "you may get me to bed." And she stretched her stiff limbs, and held out her hand imperatively.
"It was very fortunate that I did not tell," she said, when the slow passage to her own apartments had been achieved. "Now if the child will only keep still, all will be well."
"Phronsie shall have a baked apple this morning," said Mother Fisher, coming into the sunny room where Phronsie lay propped up against the pillows.
"Did Papa-Doctor say so?" asked Phronsie, a smile of supreme content spreading over her wan little face.
"Yes, he did," said her mother; "as nice an apple, red and shiny as we could find, is downstairs baking for you, Phronsie. When it's done, Sarah is to bring it up."
"That will be very nice," breathed Phronsie slowly. "And I want my little tea-set—just the two cups and saucers—and my own little pot and sugar-bowl. Do let me, Mamsie, and you shall have a cup of milk with me," she cried, a little pink color stealing into either cheek.
"Yes, yes, child," said Mother Fisher. "There, you mustn't try to lean forward. I'll bring the little table Grandpapa bought, so;" she hurried over across the room and wheeled it into place. "Now isn't that fine, Phronsie?" as the long wing swung over the bed. "Did you ever see such a tea-party as you and I'll have?"
"Breakfast party, Mamsie!" hummed Phronsie; "isn't that just lovely?" wriggling her toes under the bed-clothes. "Do you think Sarah'll ever bring that apple?"
"Yes, indeed—why, here she is now!" announced Mrs. Fisher cheerily. "Come in, Sarah," as a rap sounded on the door. "Our little girl is all ready for that good apple. My! what a fine one."
"Bless honey's heart!" ejaculated Sarah, her black face shining with delight. "Ain't he a beauty, though?" setting down on the table-wing a pink plate in the midst of which reposed an apple whose crackling skin disclosed a toothsome interior. "I bring a pink sasser so's to match his insides. But ain't he rich, though!"
"Sarah," said Phronsie, with hungry eyes on the apple, "I think he is very nice indeed, and I do thank you for bringing him."
"Bless her precious heart!" cried Sarah, her hands on her ample hips, and her mouth extended in the broadest of smiles.
"Do get me a spoon, Mamsie," begged Phronsie, unable to take her gaze from the apple. "I'm so glad he has a stem on, Sarah," carefully picking at it.
"Well, there," said Sarah, "I had the greatest work to save that stem. But, la! I wouldn't 'a' brung one without a stem. I know'd you'd want it to hold it up by, when you'd eat the most off."
"Yes, I do," said Phronsie, in great satisfaction fondling the stem.
"And here's your spoon," said her mother, bringing it. "Now, child, enjoy it to your heart's content."
Phronsie set the spoon within the cracked skin, and drew it out half-full. "Oh, Mamsie!" she cried, as her teeth closed over it, "do just taste; it's so good!"
"Hee-hee!" laughed Sarah, "I guess 'tis. Such works as I had to bake dat apple just right. But he's a beauty, ain't he, though?"
Phronsie did not reply, being just at that moment engaged in conveying a morsel as much like her own as possible, to her mother's mouth.
"Seems to me I never tasted such an apple," said Mother Fisher, slowly swallowing the bit.
"Did you, now?" cried Sarah.
Downstairs Polly was dancing around the music-room with three or four girls who had dropped in on their way from school.
"Give me a waltz now, Polly," begged Philena. "Dear me, I haven't had a sight of you hardly, for so long, I am positively starved for you. I don't care for you other girls now," she cried, as the two went whirling down the long room together.
"Thank you, Miss Philena," cried the others, seizing their partners and whirling off too.
"I feel as if I could dance forever," cried Polly, when Amy Garrett turned away from the piano and declared she would play no more—and she still pirouetted on one foot, to come up red as a rose to the group.
"Look at Polly's cheeks!" cried Amy.
"You've been a white little minx so long," said Alexia, putting a fond arm around Polly; "I went home and cried every day, after I would steal around the back way to see how Phronsie was"—
"Won't Phronsie be downstairs soon?" asked Amy.
"I don't know," said Polly. "Papa-Doctor is going to be dreadfully careful of her, that she doesn't get up too soon."
"Say, Polly," cried another girl, "don't you have to take a lot of pills and stuff, now that Dr. Fisher is your father?"
Polly threw back her head and laughed merrily. It sounded so strangely to her to hear the sound echoing through the room so long silent, that she stopped suddenly.
"Oh, girls! I can't hardly believe even yet that Phronsie is almost well," she cried.
"Well, you'd better," advised Alexia philosophically, "because she is, you know. Do laugh again, Polly; it's good to hear you."
"I can't help it," said Polly, "Cathie asked such a funny question."
"Cathie's generally a goose," said Alexia coolly.
"Thank you," said Cathie, a tall girl, with such light hair and sallow face that she looked ten years older than her fourteen summers. "I sometimes know quite as much as a few other people of my acquaintance," she said pointedly.
"I didn't say but that you did," said Alexia composedly. "I said you were generally a goose. And so you are. Why, everybody knows that, Cath."
"Come, come, girls, don't fight," said Polly. "How can you whenPhronsie is getting better? Alexia didn't mean anything, Cathie."
"Yes, she did," declared Cathie with a pout; "she's always meaning something. She's the hatefullest thing I ever saw!"
"Nonsense!" said Polly, with a gay little laugh. "She says perfectly dreadful things to me, and so I do to her, but we don't either of us mind them."
"Well, those are in fun," said Cathie; "that's a very different matter"—
"So you must make these in fun," said Polly. "I would if I were you."But she drew away from Alexia's arm.
"Polly, don't be an idiot and fight with me," whispered Alexia in her ear.
"Go away," said Polly, shaking her off.
"Polly, Polly, I'll say anything if you won't look like that. See here, Cathie, let's make up," and she ran over, seized the tall girl by the waist and spun her around till she begged to stop.
"Is that your way of making up?" cried Cathie, when she had the breath to speak.
"Yes; it is as good as any other way. It spins the nonsense out of you. There!" with a last pat on the thin shoulder, she left her, and ran back to Polly.
"It's all done," she cried. "I'm at peace with the whole world. Now don't look like an ogre any longer."
"Phronsie's actually hungry now all the time," confided Polly in a glow, "and we can't get enough to satisfy her."
"Good—good!" cried the girls.
"I'm going to send her some of my orange jelly," declared Alexia. "I'll make it just as soon as I go home. Do you think she will like it, Polly?" she asked anxiously.
"Yes, I do believe she will," said Polly, "because she loves oranges so."
"Well, I shan't make any old orange jelly," cried Cathie, her nose in the air. "Faugh! it's insipid enough!"
"But 'tisn't when it's made the way Alexia makes it," said Polly, viewing in alarm the widening of the breach between the two. "I've eaten some of hers, and it's too splendid for anything."
"I don't know anything about hers, but all orange jelly I have tasted is just horrid. I hate it! I'm going to make almond macaroons. They're lovely, Polly."
"Oh! don't, Cathie," begged Polly in distress.
"Why not, pray tell," whirling on one set of toes. "You needn't be afraid they won't be good. I've made them thousands of times."
"But she couldn't eat them," said Polly. "Just think, almond macaroons!Why, Papa-Doctor would"—
"Now I know the doctor makes you take perfectly terrible things, and won't let you eat anything. And macaroons are the only things I can make. It's a shame!" and down sat Cathie in despair on an ottoman.
"What's the matter?" Dr. Fisher put his head in at the doorway, his spectacled eyes sending a swift glance of inquiry around.
"O dear me!" exclaimed Cathie in a fright, jumping up and clutching the arm of the girl next to her. "Don't let Polly tell him what I said—don't."
"Polly won't tell," said the girl, with a superb air; "don't you know any better, Cathie Harrison, you goose, you!"
To be called a goose by two persons in the course of an hour was too much for Cathie's endurance, and flinging off the girl's arm, she cried out passionately, "I won't stay; I'm going home!" and rushed out the door.
Dr. Fisher turned from a deliberate look at the girl's white cheeks, as she ran past, to the flushed ones before him.
"I'm very sorry that anything unpleasant has happened. I dropped in to tell you of a little surprise, but I see it's no time now."
"Oh, Papa-Doctor!" cried Polly, flying up to him from the center of the group, "it was nothing—only"—
"A girl's quarrel is not a slight thing, Polly," said little Dr. Fisher gravely, "and one of your friends has gone away very unhappy."
"Oh! I know it," said Polly, "and I'm so sorry."
"We can't any of us help it," said Alexia quickly. "Cathie Harrison has the temper of a gorilla—so there, Dr. Fisher."
Dr. Fisher set his spectacles straight, and looked at Alexia, but he did not even smile, as she hoped he would do. "I can't help it," she said, tracing the pattern of the carpet with the toe of her boot, "she makes us all so uncomfortable, oh! you can't think. And I wish she'd stay home forever."
Still no answer from the doctor. He didn't act as if he heard, but bowing gravely, he withdrew his head and shut the door.
"O dear, dear!" cried Alexia, when they had all looked at each other a breathing space. "Why didn't he speak? I'd much rather he'd scold like everything than to look like that. Polly, why don't you say something?"
"Because there isn't anything to say." Polly got no further, and turned away, suspiciously near to tears. Was this the first meeting with the girls to which she had looked forward so long?
"To think of that Cathie Harrison making such a breeze," cried Alexia angrily; "a girl who's just come among us, as it were, and we only let her in our set because Miss Salisbury asked us to make things pleasant for her. If it had been any one else who raised such a fuss!"
Meantime Dr. Fisher strode out to the west porch, intending to walk down to his office, and buttoning up his coat as he went along. As he turned the angle in the drive, he came suddenly upon a girl who had thrown herself down on a rustic seat under a tree, and whose shoulders were shaking so violently that he knew she was sobbing, though he heard no sound.
"Don't cry," said the little doctor, "and what's the matter?" all in the same breath, and sitting down beside her.
Cathie looked up with a gasp, and then crushed her handkerchief over her eyes. "Those girls in there are perfectly horrid." "Softly, softly," said Dr. Fisher.
"I can't—help it. No matter what I say, they call me names, and I'm tired of it. O dear, dear!"
"Now see here," said the doctor, getting up on his feet and drawing a long breath. "I'm on my way to my office; suppose you walk along with me a bit and tell me all about it."
Cathie opened her mouth, intending to say, "Oh! I can't"—instead, she found herself silent, and not knowing how, she was presently pacing down the drive by the doctor's side.
"Polly Pepper!" exclaimed Alexia, as a turn in the drive brought the two figures in view of the music-room windows, "did you ever see such a sight in your life? Cathie is walking off with Dr. Fisher! There isn't anything her tongue won't say!"
"Did you tell Polly?" cried Jasper, a half-hour later, putting his head into Dr. Fisher's office. "Oh! beg pardon; I didn't know you were busy, sir."
"Come in," said the doctor, folding up some powders methodically. "No,I didn't tell Polly."
"Oh!" said Jasper, in a disappointed tone.
"I hadn't a fair chance"—
"But she ought to know it just as soon as it's talked of," said Jasper, fidgeting at a case of little vials on the table. "Oh! beg pardon again. I'm afraid I've smashed that chap," as one rolled off to the floor. "I'm no end sorry," picking up the bits ruefully.
"I have several like it," said the doctor kindly, and settling another powder in its little paper.
"There were a lot of girls with Polly when I looked in upon her on my way out. But we'll catch a chance to tell her soon, my boy."
"Oh! I suppose so. A lot of giggling creatures. How Polly can stand their chatter, I don't see," cried Jasper impatiently.
"They've been shut off from Polly for some time, you know," said Dr.Fisher quietly. "We must remember that."
"Polly doesn't like some of them a bit better than I do," said Jasper explosively, "only she puts up with their nonsense."
"It's rather a difficult matter to pick and choose girls who are in the same classes," said the doctor, "and Polly sees that."
"Don't I know it?" exclaimed Jasper, in an astonished tone. "Dear me, Dr. Fisher, I've watched Polly for years now. And she's always done so." He stopped whirling the articles on the office table, and bestowed a half-offended look on the little physician.
"Softly, softly, Jasper," said Dr. Fisher composedly. "Of course you've used your eyes. Now don't spoil things by saying anything, but let Polly 'go her own gait,' I beg of you." Then he turned to his powders once more.
"She will, anyway," declared Jasper. "Whatever she makes up her mind to do, Polly does that very thing."
"Not a bad characteristic," laughed the doctor.
"I should say not."
"Now when I come up home for dinner, you and I will find Polly, and tell her the good news. If she's with a lot of those silly girls, I'll—I'll tear her off this time." Dr. Fisher glared so fiercely as he declared this determination that Jasper laughed outright.
"I thought no one was to disturb Polly's good intentions in that line," he cried.
"Well, there's an end to all things, and patience ceases to be a virtue sometimes."
"So I've thought a good many times, but I've borne it like a man."Jasper drew himself up, and laughed again at the doctor's face.
"Oh! you go along," cried Dr. Fisher, his eyes twinkling. "I'll meet you just before dinner."
"All right," as Jasper rushed off.
Dr. Fisher jumped to his feet, pushing aside the litter of powder papers, and bottles, and ran his fingers through the shock of gray hair standing straight on his head.
"Yes, yes," he muttered, walking to the window, "it will be a good thing for Polly, now I tell you, Adoniram." He always preferred to address himself by his first name; then he was sure of a listener. "A vastly good thing. It's quite time that some of the intimacies with these silly creatures are broken up a bit, while the child gains immensely in other ways." He rubbed his palms gleefully. "Oh! good-morning, good-morning!"
A patient walking in, looked up at the jolly little doctor. "I wish I could laugh like that," he ejaculated, his long face working in the unusual effort to achieve a smile.
"You would if you had a gay crowd of children such as I have," cried the little doctor proudly. "Why, man, that's better than all my doses."
"But I haven't the children," said the patient sourly, and sitting down with a sigh.
"I pity you, then," said Dr. Fisher, with the air of having been a family man for years. "Well, besides owning the Peppers, I'm going off with them to"—there he stopped, for before he knew it, the secret was well-nigh out.
But Polly was not to be told yet. When Papa Fisher walked in to dinner, the merry party around the oak table were waiting over the ices and coffee for his appearance.
"Oh, Papa Fisher!" cried Polly in dismay, turning from one of Alexia's sallies, and dropping her spoon. "Now you're all tired out—too bad!"
Mother Fisher flushed up, and set her lips closely together. Ben looked disapproval across the board, and Polly knew that the wrong thing had been said.
"Oh! I didn't mean—of course you must take care of the sick people," she said impulsively.
"Yes, I must," said Dr. Fisher wearily, and pushing up the shock of gray hair to a stiffer brush over his brow. "That's what I set out to do, I believe."
"But that's no reason why you should tire yourself to death, and break down the first year," said Mr. King, eyeing him sharply. "Zounds, man, that isn't what I brought you up from the country for."
Dr. Fisher looked into his wife's eyes and smiled. "I believe you brought me," the smile said. But he kept his tongue still.
"And you must get accustomed to seeing suffering that you can't help. Why, man alive, the town's full of it; you can't expect to stop it alone."
"I'll do what I can to help," said the little doctor between his teeth, and taking a long draught of the coffee his wife put by his plate. "I suppose there's no objection to that. Now, that's good," smacking his lips in a pleased way.
"Of course not, if you help in the right way," said old Mr. King stoutly, "but I'll wager anything that you're picking up all sorts of odd jobs among the poor, that belong to the young doctors. Your place is considerably higher, where you can pick and choose your patients."
Dr. Fisher laughed—an odd little laugh, that along with its pleasant note, carried the ring of a strong will.
"Oh! well, you know, I'm too old to learn new ways," he said. "Better let me wag on at the old ones."
Mr. King gave an exclamation of disapproval. "It's lucky your time is short," he said grimly, and the secret was nearly out!
"Phronsie is coming downstairs to-morrow, isn't she?" asked Jasper quickly, over to the doctor.
"Oh! no, indeed, I think not," answered Mr. King before Dr. Fisher had time to reply. "She would better wait a day or two longer. Isn't that so, Doctor?" at last appealing to him.
"I don't agree with you," the little doctor drew off his attention from his plate. "You see she has regained her strength remarkably. Now the quicker she is in the family life again, the better for her."
"Oh, good! good!" cried Polly, delighted at the safe withdrawal from the precipice of dangerous argument. "Alexia, now you must help us think up something to celebrate her coming downstairs."
"Not so fast, Polly." The little doctor beamed at her in a way surprising to see after the morning's affair. "Phronsie won't be ready for any celebration before next week. Then I think you may venture."
Alexia pouted and played with her spoon.
"O dear!" cried Dick dolefully, "what's the reason we must wait a whole week, pray tell?"
"Because Father Fisher says so," replied Ben across the table; "that's the principal reason—and it doesn't need any more to support it"—
"Well, I tell you," broke in Polly in her brightest way, "let us think up perfectly splendid things. It's best as it is, for it will take us a week to get ready."
"I shall get her a new doll," declared Mr. King. The rest shouted. "Her others must be quite worn out."
"What could you get her," cried Mr. Whitney, "in the way of a doll? Do tell us, for I really do not see."
"Why, one of those phonograph dolls, to be sure," cried Mr. King promptly.
"Are they on sale yet?" asked Jasper. "I thought they had not perfected them enough for the market."
"I think I know where one can be bought," said his father. "They must be perfected—it's all nonsense that I can't find one if Phronsie wants it! Yes, she shall have a phonograph doll."
"That will be perfectly elegant," exclaimed Polly, with sparkling eyes."Won't Phronsie be delighted when she hears it talk?"
"She ought to have a Punch and Judy show," said Mrs. Whitney, "she's always so pleased with them, father."
Mr. King pushed away his coffee-cup, and pulled out his note-book.
"'Punch and Judy,' down that goes," he said, noting it after "phonograph doll." "What else?"
"Can't we have some of those boys up from the Orphan Asylum?" asked Polly, after a minute in which everybody had done a bit of hard thinking. "Phronsie loves to hear them sing when she goes there. Oh! they are so cunning."
"She'll want to give them her best toys and load them down with all her possessions. You see if she doesn't," warned Jasper.
"Well, she won't give away her new doll, anyway," cried Polly.
"No, she never gives away one of the dolls you've given her, father," said Mrs. Whitney slowly, "not a single one. I tried her one day, asking her to give me one to bestow on a poor child, and she quite reproached me by the look in her brown eyes. I haven't asked her since."
"What did she say?" asked Mr. King abruptly.
"'I can't, Auntie; dear Grandpapa gave them to me himself.' Then she ran for her savings bank, and poured out the money in my lap. 'Let's go out and buy the poor child a doll,' she begged, and I really had to do it. And there must be at least two hundred dolls in this house."
"Two hundred dolls!" cried Alexia in astonishment, and raising her hands.
"Why, yes; father has been bringing Phronsie dolls for the last five years, with the greatest faithfulness, till her family has increased to a painful extent."
"O dear me!" cried Alexia, with great emphasis. "I should think they'd be under foot in every room."
"Well, indeed they're not," said Polly; "she keeps them up in her playroom."
"And the playroom closet," said Mrs. Whitney, "that is full. I peeped in there yesterday, and the dolls are ranged according to the times when father gave them to her."
"And the baby-house is just crowded," laughed Jasper. "I know, becauseI saw her moving out her chairs and tables to make room."
"O dear me!" exclaimed Alexia again, for want of something else to say.
"I just hate dolls," exploded Dick. "Faugh! how can girls play with them; they're so silly. And Phronsie always has something to do for hers, so she can't come when I want her to. I wish they were burned up," he added vindictively.
Mr. King rubbed his forehead in a puzzled way. "Perhaps she has enough," he said at last. "Yet what shall I give her if I don't buy a doll?"
"I'd give her the phonograph one, father," said Mrs. Whitney, "anyway."
"Yes, of course; but after that, what shall I do?"
He looked so troubled that Mrs. Whitney hastened to say, "Oh, well, father! you know when you are abr"—and the secret Was nearly out for the second time!
But they were saved by the appearance of Alexia's father, who often dropped in on the edge of the dinner hour, for a second cup of coffee.
The next morning Phronsie was waiting for Grandpapa King, who insisted that no one else should carry her downstairs, the remainder of the household in various stages of delight and expectation, revolving around her, and curbing their impatience as best they might, in hall and on staircase.
"Oh, Grandpapa! do hurry," begged Dick, kicking his heels on the stairs.
"Hush, Dicky boy," said mamma. "Grandpapa can't come till his agent is gone. Don't you hear them talking in the library?"
"Well I wish Mr. Frazer would take himself off; he's a nuisance," declared the boy. "He's been here a whole hour."
"Here comes Grandpapa!" announced Polly gleefully, from a station nearer the library. "Hush, now, Mr. Frazer's going!"
The library door opening at this announcement, and a few sentences charged with business floating up the staircase, the bustle around Phronsie became joyfully intense.
"Mamsie, don't you think she ought to have a shawl on?" cried Polly anxiously, running over the stairs. "She's been shut up so long!"
"No," said Mother Fisher. "Doctor told me particularly not to bundle her up. It was the last thing he said before he went to his office."
"Well," said Polly with a sigh, "then there isn't absolutely anything more to do for her. Why doesn't Grandpapa come?"
"You are worse than Dicky," said Mrs. Fisher with a little laugh. "Dear me, Polly, just think how old you are."
Phronsie stood quite still in the middle of the floor and folded her hands. "I want to see Grandpapa all alone when he comes up," she said.
"What for?" cried Polly, pausing in astonishment.
"Do you want us all to go out, Phronsie?" asked her mother slowly.
"Yes," said Phronsie, shaking her yellow head with great decision, "please every single one go out, Mamsie. I want to see Grandpapa quite alone."
"All right, child," said Mrs. Fisher, with a look at Polly. So after a little demur and consequent delay on the part of the others, the door was closed and she was left standing all alone.
Phronsie drew a long breath. "I wish Grandpapa would come," she said to herself.
"And so you wanted me, did you, dear?" cried Mr. King joyfully, as he hurried in and closed the door carefully. "Well, now, see if I can guess what you want to tell me."
"Grandpapa," said Phronsie, standing quite still and turning a puzzled face toward him, "I don't want to tell you anything; I want to ask you something."
"Well, well, dear, what is it?" Old Mr. King, not stopping for a chair, leaned over her and stroked her yellow head. "Now, then, look up, and ask me right off, Phronsie."
"Must a person keep a promise?" asked Phronsie, "a really and truly promise, Grandpapa?"
"Yes, yes," said the old gentleman with great abruptness, "to be sure one must, Phronsie. To be sure. So now if any one has promised you anything, do you make him stick to it. It's mean enough to break your word, child."
Phronsie drew a long breath.
"That's all, Grandpapa," she said, and lifting up her arms; "now take me downstairs, please." She laid a cool little cheek against his, as he raised her to his shoulder.
"Remember what I say, Phronsie," laughed Mr. King, his mind more intent on the delightful fact that he was carrying down the longed-for burden to the family life, than on what he was saying, "and if any one has promised you anything, keep him up sharp to pay you. I verily believe it is that scamp Dick. Here goes!" and reaching the door he threw it wide. "Forward, march!"
"Well, is the important conference over?" asked Polly, with a keen look at them both.
Mrs. Fisher's eyes did their duty, but she said nothing.
"Yes, indeed," declared Mr. King, marching on gaily. "Now clear the way there, all you good people. Here, you Dick, drumming your heels, go ahead, sir."
"I'm glad enough to," shouted Dick, racing down the remainder of the stairs. "Halloo, Phronsie," waving his hand at her, "three cheers and a tiger! Bother! Here comes Mrs. Chatterton."
Which was quite true. To every one's astonishment the door of that lady's apartment opened slowly, disclosing her in new morning wrapper, preparing to join the cavalcade.
"Good morning, Cousin Eunice," cried Mr. King gaily. He could be merry with any one this day. "Come on, this is a festal occasion, you see; Phronsie's going downstairs for the first time. Fall into line!"
"I'm not able to go down," said Mrs. Chatterton, coming slowly out into the hall, "but I'll stand here and see the parade."
"Bully!" exploded Dick softly, peering up from the foot of the stairs.
Phronsie looked over Mr. King's shoulder at her as she was borne down the stairs, and, putting out her hand, "I'm all well now," she said.
"Yes, I see," said Mrs. Chatterton. Then she pulled up her white shawl with a shiver. "It's rather cold here," she said; "after all, I believe I must get back to my room."
Nobody noticed when she crept back, the hilarity now being so great below stairs.
"I certainly am losing ground," she muttered, "every little thing affects me so. I'll step into Bartram's office next time I go down town and set that little matter straight, since I've made up my mind to do it. It never would do to let him come to the house. Horatio would suspect something to see my lawyer here, and the whole household imagine I was going to die right off. No, no; I must go there, that's clear. Then if it's attended to, I'll live all the longer, with nothing on my mind."
Phronsie, meanwhile, was going around from room to room in a pleased way, and touching different objects gently "Everything's new, isn't it, Polly," she said at last, "when you stay upstairs? Oh! there's my kittens in the basket," pointing to a bisque vase on the table.
"Yes," said Polly; "Mamsie brought it in here. And we've some flowers; Alexia sent them over. They're out in the back hall; we saved them for you to put in yourself."
"Oh!" exclaimed Phronsie, "that's so good in you, Polly."
"Don't stop now," cried Dick in disgust. "Faugh! you can fix flowers any time. Come out into the dining-room—and you'll see something you'll like."
Phronsie smothered a sigh, and turned slowly away from the kittens waiting in their basket for Alexia's flowers. "Come on!" shouted Dick, seizing her hand. "You never can guess what it is, in all this world."
"Is it a new dog?" asked Phronsie fearfully, whose memory of Dick's latest purchase was not altogether happy.
"No," said Dick, pulling her on, "better than that."
"Don't hurry her so," said Polly. "What have you got, Dick?"
"Now, do you mind, sir," cried Jasper, "else well stop your pretty plan."
"I won't hurry her," said Dick, slackening his gait. "Well, here we are," opening the dining-room door. "Why, Jane has let it out!"
Phronsie fell back a step at this and tried to cover her feet with her gown, searching the floor for the "it."
"Lookout!" cried Dick suddenly. "There he goes!" And something whirred over Phronsie's head.
"Oh! what is it?" she cried, tumbling into Jasper's arms and clasping his neck. "Oh! oh!"
"Why, it's a swallow," cried Dick, in the babel that ensued, "a beautiful one, too. I've just caught him, and I made Jane let me bring it in here to surprise you," he added proudly.
"Well, you've succeeded," cried Jasper, holding Phronsie close. "There, there, child, it's all right. It's a bird, Phronsie, and he's gone upstairs."
"He'll frighten my dolls," cried Phronsie in new alarm, hanging to Jasper's neck. "Oh! do let us go upstairs, and tell them he's only a bird."
"Run along, Dick, and catch your old bird," cried Jasper, "and clear out with him—quick now!"
"He's the best thing there is in this house," cried Dick, going over the back stairs two at a time. "Girls are so silly."
"Bring him down," said Polly, moving along to the foot, "and I'll show him to Phronsie, and tell her about him. Then she'll like him, Dick."
"I'll like him, Dick," echoed Phronsie, "if he doesn't frighten my dolls."