"There, lay your head down again,
child."
"It didn't sound like a bird, Grandpapa. I thought some one was crying."
Yet she put her yellow head obediently down, and didn't lift it again till
Mother Fisher stood by the side of old Mr. King's chair.
"Well, is the conference over?" he asked.
"Yes," said Mrs. Pepper. Her lips had a little white line around them, too,
like that on Polly's mouth, and the black eyes had a strange expression.
Phronsie popped her head up like a bird out of its nest, and piped out:
"Oh, please, Mamsie, may she stay?"
"Yes," said Mother Fisher, "she is going to stay, Phronsie."
"Oh, my goodness me!" breathed old Mr. King.
Phronsie slipped out of his arms and began to dance, clapping her hands.
"I'm going to play with her now, but I must get Clorinda first," she cried
excitedly.
"See here, Phronsie," Mother Fisher called, as she was flying off, "you
must not play with the little girl yet."
Phronsie stood quite still.
"Come here to mother." Mrs. Fisher opened her arms and Phronsie scuttled
into them like a little rabbit. Mrs. Pepper held her so closely that
Phronsie looked up quickly.
"Why, you are hurting me like Grandpapa, Mamsie."
"Oh, my child!" Mother Fisher seemed to forget herself, as she bowed her
head over Phronsie's yellow hair.
"What is the matter, Mamsie?" asked Phronsie.
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