But Phronsie was beyond the charms of "lady-chair" or
"pick-a-back," her yellow head bobbing so dismally when they lifted her up,
that Jasper at last picked her up in his arms, and marched off with her.
"You bring the doll, Polly."
So Polly ran along by his side with Clorinda dangling by one arm.
Mother Fisher said never a word when she received her baby, but wisely
soothed and washed and tucked her away in bed; and little Doctor Fisher, as
soon as he got home, viewed her critically through his big spectacles, and
said, "The child is all right. Let her sleep." Which she did, until every
one of the household, creeping in and out, declared she could not possibly
sleep any longer, and that they must wake her up. This last was from Polly.
"What do you suppose it is, Mamsie?" she asked, for about the fiftieth
time, hanging over Phronsie's little bed.
"Nothing," said Mrs. Fisher, with firm lips. Polly must not be worried by
unnecessary alarm, and really there seemed to be nothing amiss with
Phronsie, who was sleeping peacefully, with calm little face and even
breath. "It's the best thing for her to sleep till she's rested."
"But what could have tired her so?" said Polly, with a puzzled face.
"That's just what we can't find out now," said her mother, diving into her
basket for another of Van's stockings. "Oh, here is the mate.
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