" So Phronsie cuddled up within his arms, feeling quite sure that now
Mamsie had her own poor little girl, everything would be all right.
"She's my nice little girl, and I like her," Phronsie was saying. "Yes, I
do, very much indeed, Grandpapa."
"You do?"
"Yes, and I want her to stay here, Grandpapa. Please, may she?"
"Oh, dear!"
"_Please_, Grandpapa dear." Phronsie put up one hand and tucked it
softly under his chin. He seized it and covered it with kisses.
"Oh, my lamb--that wicked, careless Joanna!"
"What's the matter, Grandpapa?" Phronsie brought up her head to look at him
with troubled eyes.
"Nothing--nothing, child; there, cuddle down again. Your mother is talking
to the little girl, and she will fix up things. Oh, bless me!"
"Mamsie will fix up things, won't she, Grandpapa?" cooed Phronsie,
wriggling her toes happily.
"Yes, dear."
"Grandpapa," said Phronsie, after a moment's silence only broken by a soft
murmur of voices, for Mother Fisher had drawn her group to the further
corner, "I don't think my little girl has got a very nice place to live
in."
"Oh, Phronsie, child!" He strained her convulsively to his breast. "There,
there, lamb, Oh, I didn't mean to! Grandpapa won't hurt his little pet for
the world."
"You didn't hurt me this time," said Phronsie, "as much as you did before,
Grandpapa dear.
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