When she
wakes up, she'll tell us."
"Well, Joanna is going, isn't she, Mamsie?" asked Polly, deserting the
little bed to fling herself down on the floor at Mrs. Fisher's feet, to
watch the busy fingers.
"Yes, she is," said Mother Fisher decidedly.
"I'm so very glad of that," said Polly, with a sigh of relief, "because you
know, Mamsie, she might go off again and leave Phronsie when she ought to
be watching her."
"Say no more about it, Polly," said her mother, setting even, firm
stitches, "for Mr. King is very angry with Joanna; and you needn't be
afraid that Phronsie will ever be left again, until we do get just the
right person to be with her. Now you better go out and forget it all, and
busy yourself about something."
"I've got to practice," said Polly with a yawn, and stretching her arms. "I
haven't done a bit this whole afternoon, and Monsieur comes tomorrow."
"Best fly at it, then," said Mrs. Fisher, smiling at her. So Polly, with a
parting glance at the figure on the little bed, went downstairs and into
the big drawing-room, wishing that Phronsie was there, as usual, where she
dearly loved to stay, tucked up in a big damask-covered chair, one of her
dolls in her arms, waiting patiently till the practice hour should be over.
But when Phronsie at last turned over, and said without a bit of warning,
"I want something to eat, I do.
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