"
"What's philo--that big word, Grandpapa?" she asked, turning away from her
effort to catch sight of the flower-beds, off in the distance, gay with the
wealth of blooms saved for the hoped-for festivities of the morrow, and she
put her arm around his neck.
"Oh, that? It was a pretty large word to use to you, and that's a fact,"
said the old gentleman, with a little laugh. He was having rather a hard
time of it to conceal his dismay at the blow to all the plans and
preparations so finely in progress for the garden party. "Well, it means we
must make the best of it all, and not fret."
"Oh!" said Phronsie. Then she turned back to her window again, and surveyed
the driving storm.
"Perhaps the flowers like it," she said, after a pause, when nothing was
heard but the beating of the rain against the glass; "maybe they are
thirsty, Grandpapa."
"Yes, maybe," assented Grandpapa absently.
"And if God wants it to rain, why we must be glad, mustn't we, Grandpapa,
if he really wants it?"
"Yes, yes, child," said the old gentleman hastily.
"Then I'm glad," said Phronsie, with a long sigh, and she clambered down
from her chair, "and let's find Polly and tell her so, Grandpapa."
Over in the library there was a dismal group. Joel was fighting valiantly
with a flood of tears, doubling up his little fists and glaring at Percy
and Van at the least intimation of a remark to him.
Pages:
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93