"There, there, dear! Oh, why doesn't that Sarah hurry!"--when in
walked that individual with a big tray, and on it everything that a hungry
child could be supposed to desire. But Phronsie had no eyes for anything
but the glass of milk.
"Oh, Grandpapa," she piped out at sight of it, "Sarah's got me some milk,"
and she gave a happy little crow.
"So she has," he laughed as gayly, "Well, now, we'll sit right down here
and have some of these good things," and, Mrs. Fisher drawing up a big easy
chair in front of the table where Sarah deposited the tray, he sat down,
with Phronsie on his knee. "Now, child----"
"Oh, Grandpapa, may I have the milk?" she begged, holding out a trembling
hand.
"Bless you, yes, child." He put the glass into her hand. "Take care,
Phronsie, don't drink so fast."
"Honey will choke herself," cried Sarah, in alarm, holding up warning black
fingers. "Oh, my! she's done drunk it mos' all up a'ready."
"There, there, Phronsie!" Grandpapa took hold of the glass.
"Phronsie," said Mother Fisher, and it was her hand that took the glass
away from the eager lips. "You must eat a roll now, or a little bit of
toast."
"But I want some more milk," said Phronsie, and her lips quivered.
"Not yet, Phronsie." Mother Fisher was cutting up the toast, and now held
up a morsel on the spoon. "See how very nice it is.
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