"Bless me; what have we here?" Old Mr. King, enjoying a morning
constitutional on the big veranda, looked over his spectacles, which he had
forgotten to remove as he had just thrown down the morning paper in a
chair, and stared in amazement at the three children coming over the lawn.
"My poor little girl, Grandpapa," announced Phronsie, releasing the arm she
clung to, and tumbling up over the steps, "and please make her stay, and
I'm going to let her take Clorinda," and she plunged breathlessly into the
old gentleman's arms.
"Hoity-toity, child!" exclaimed old Mr. King, holding her closely. "Well,
what have we here?"--as Polly led Rag up on to the veranda.
"I don't know, Grandpapa," said Polly, still keeping tight hold of the arm
in its tattered sleeve.
"It seems to be a little girl," said Grandpapa, peering at the stranger.
"Yes, it's my little girl," said Phronsie happily, "and she's come to play
with me, Grandpapa."
"Oh, my goodness me!" exclaimed Mr. King, stepping backward and drawing
Phronsie closer.
"I ain't come. _She_ brung me," said the girl, pointing with a thumb
over at Polly; "tain't my fault; she made me."
"Polly, what is all this?" asked the old gentleman perplexedly, staring at
one and the other.
"I don't know, Grandpapa," said Polly, the little white line still around
her mouth; "she says Phronsie has been at her house, and----"
"_Phronsie been at her house!_" thundered the old gentleman.
Pages:
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72