"Don't cry," said the little doctor, "and what's the matter?" all in the same breath, and sitting down beside her.

Cathie looked up with a gasp, and then crushed her handkerchief over her eyes. "Those girls in there are perfectly horrid." "Softly, softly," said Dr. Fisher.

"I can't—help it. No matter what I say, they call me names, and I'm tired of it. O dear, dear!"

"Now see here," said the doctor, getting up on his feet and drawing a long breath. "I'm on my way to my office; suppose you walk along with me a bit and tell me all about it."

Cathie opened her mouth, intending to say, "Oh! I can't"—instead, she found herself silent, and not knowing how, she was presently pacing down the drive by the doctor's side.

"Polly Pepper!" exclaimed Alexia, as a turn in the drive brought the two figures in view of the music-room windows, "did you ever see such a sight in your life? Cathie is walking off with Dr. Fisher! There isn't anything her tongue won't say!"

"Did you tell Polly?" cried Jasper, a half-hour later, putting his head into Dr. Fisher's office. "Oh! beg pardon; I didn't know you were busy, sir."

"Come in," said the doctor, folding up some powders methodically. "No, I didn't tell Polly."

"Oh!" said Jasper, in a disappointed tone.

"I hadn't a fair chance"—

"But she ought to know it just as soon as it's talked of," said Jasper, fidgeting at a case of little vials on the table. "Oh! beg pardon again. I'm afraid I've smashed that chap," as one rolled off to the floor. "I'm no end sorry," picking up the bits ruefully.

"I have several like it," said the doctor kindly, and settling another powder in its little paper.

"There were a lot of girls with Polly when I looked in upon her on my way out. But we'll catch a chance to tell her soon, my boy."

"Oh! I suppose so. A lot of giggling creatures. How Polly can stand their chatter, I don't see," cried Jasper impatiently.

"They've been shut off from Polly for some time, you know," said Dr. Fisher quietly. "We must remember that."

"Polly doesn't like some of them a bit better than I do," said Jasper explosively, "only she puts up with their nonsense."

"It's rather a difficult matter to pick and choose girls who are in the same classes," said the doctor, "and Polly sees that."

"Don't I know it?" exclaimed Jasper, in an astonished tone. "Dear me, Dr. Fisher, I've watched Polly for years now. And she's always done so." He stopped whirling the articles on the office table, and bestowed a half-offended look on the little physician.

"Softly, softly, Jasper," said Dr. Fisher composedly. "Of course you've used your eyes. Now don't spoil things by saying anything, but let Polly 'go her own gait,' I beg of you." Then he turned to his powders once more.

"She will, anyway," declared Jasper. "Whatever she makes up her mind to do, Polly does that very thing."

"Not a bad characteristic," laughed the doctor.

"I should say not."

"Now when I come up home for dinner, you and I will find Polly, and tell her the good news. If she's with a lot of those silly girls, I'll—I'll tear her off this time." Dr. Fisher glared so fiercely as he declared this determination that Jasper laughed outright.

"I thought no one was to disturb Polly's good intentions in that line," he cried.

"Well, there's an end to all things, and patience ceases to be a virtue sometimes."

"So I've thought a good many times, but I've borne it like a man." Jasper drew himself up, and laughed again at the doctor's face.

"Oh! you go along," cried Dr. Fisher, his eyes twinkling. "I'll meet you just before dinner."

"All right," as Jasper rushed off.

Dr. Fisher jumped to his feet, pushing aside the litter of powder papers, and bottles, and ran his fingers through the shock of gray hair standing straight on his head.

"Yes, yes," he muttered, walking to the window, "it will be a good thing for Polly, now I tell you, Adoniram." He always preferred to address himself by his first name; then he was sure of a listener. "A vastly good thing. It's quite time that some of the intimacies with these silly creatures are broken up a bit, while the child gains immensely in other ways." He rubbed his palms gleefully. "Oh! good-morning, good-morning!"

A patient walking in, looked up at the jolly little doctor. "I wish I could laugh like that," he ejaculated, his long face working in the unusual effort to achieve a smile.

"You would if you had a gay crowd of children such as I have," cried the little doctor proudly. "Why, man, that's better than all my doses."

"But I haven't the children," said the patient sourly, and sitting down with a sigh.

"I pity you, then," said Dr. Fisher, with the air of having been a family man for years. "Well, besides owning the Peppers, I'm going off with them to"—there he stopped, for before he knew it, the secret was well-nigh out.



XIX

PHRONSIE IS WELL AGAIN

But Polly was not to be told yet. When Papa Fisher walked in to dinner, the merry party around the oak table were waiting over the ices and coffee for his appearance.

"Oh, Papa Fisher!" cried Polly in dismay, turning from one of Alexia's sallies, and dropping her spoon. "Now you're all tired out—too bad!"

Mother Fisher flushed up, and set her lips closely together. Ben looked disapproval across the board, and Polly knew that the wrong thing had been said.

"Oh! I didn't mean—of course you must take care of the sick people," she said impulsively.

"Yes, I must," said Dr. Fisher wearily, and pushing up the shock of gray hair to a stiffer brush over his brow. "That's what I set out to do, I believe."

"But that's no reason why you should tire yourself to death, and break down the first year," said Mr. King, eyeing him sharply. "Zounds, man, that isn't what I brought you up from the country for."

Dr. Fisher looked into his wife's eyes and smiled. "I believe you brought me," the smile said. But he kept his tongue still.

"And you must get accustomed to seeing suffering that you can't help. Why, man alive, the town's full of it; you can't expect to stop it alone."

"I'll do what I can to help," said the little doctor between his teeth, and taking a long draught of the coffee his wife put by his plate. "I suppose there's no objection to that. Now, that's good," smacking his lips in a pleased way.

"Of course not, if you help in the right way," said old Mr. King stoutly, "but I'll wager anything that you're picking up all sorts of odd jobs among the poor, that belong to the young doctors. Your place is considerably higher, where you can pick and choose your patients."

Dr. Fisher laughed—an odd little laugh, that along with its pleasant note, carried the ring of a strong will.

"Oh! well, you know, I'm too old to learn new ways," he said. "Better let me wag on at the old ones."

Mr. King gave an exclamation of disapproval. "It's lucky your time is short," he said grimly, and the secret was nearly out!

"Phronsie is coming downstairs to-morrow, isn't she?" asked Jasper quickly, over to the doctor.

"Oh! no, indeed, I think not," answered Mr. King before Dr. Fisher had time to reply. "She would better wait a day or two longer. Isn't that so, Doctor?" at last appealing to him.

"I don't agree with you," the little doctor drew off his attention from his plate. "You see she has regained her strength remarkably. Now the quicker she is in the family life again, the better for her."

"Oh, good! good!" cried Polly, delighted at the safe withdrawal from the precipice of dangerous argument. "Alexia, now you must help us think up something to celebrate her coming downstairs."

"Not so fast, Polly." The little doctor beamed at her in a way surprising to see after the morning's affair. "Phronsie won't be ready for any celebration before next week. Then I think you may venture."

Alexia pouted and played with her spoon.

"O dear!" cried Dick dolefully, "what's the reason we must wait a whole week, pray tell?"

"Because Father Fisher says so," replied Ben across the table; "that's the principal reason—and it doesn't need any more to support it"—

"Well, I tell you," broke in Polly in her brightest way, "let us think up perfectly splendid things. It's best as it is, for it will take us a week to get ready."

"I shall get her a new doll," declared Mr. King. The rest shouted. "Her others must be quite worn out."

"What could you get her," cried Mr. Whitney, "in the way of a doll? Do tell us, for I really do not see."

"Why, one of those phonograph dolls, to be sure," cried Mr. King promptly.

"Are they on sale yet?" asked Jasper. "I thought they had not perfected them enough for the market."

"I think I know where one can be bought," said his father. "They must be perfected—it's all nonsense that I can't find one if Phronsie wants it! Yes, she shall have a phonograph doll."

"That will be perfectly elegant," exclaimed Polly, with sparkling eyes. "Won't Phronsie be delighted when she hears it talk?"

"She ought to have a Punch and Judy show," said Mrs. Whitney, "she's always so pleased with them, father."

Mr. King pushed away his coffee-cup, and pulled out his note-book.

"'Punch and Judy,' down that goes," he said, noting it after "phonograph doll." "What else?"

"Can't we have some of those boys up from the Orphan Asylum?" asked Polly, after a minute in which everybody had done a bit of hard thinking. "Phronsie loves to hear them sing when she goes there. Oh! they are so cunning."

"She'll want to give them her best toys and load them down with all her possessions. You see if she doesn't," warned Jasper.

"Well, she won't give away her new doll, anyway," cried Polly.

"No, she never gives away one of the dolls you've given her, father," said Mrs. Whitney slowly, "not a single one. I tried her one day, asking her to give me one to bestow on a poor child, and she quite reproached me by the look in her brown eyes. I haven't asked her since."

"What did she say?" asked Mr. King abruptly.

"'I can't, Auntie; dear Grandpapa gave them to me himself.' Then she ran for her savings bank, and poured out the money in my lap. 'Let's go out and buy the poor child a doll,' she begged, and I really had to do it. And there must be at least two hundred dolls in this house."

"Two hundred dolls!" cried Alexia in astonishment, and raising her hands.

"Why, yes; father has been bringing Phronsie dolls for the last five years, with the greatest faithfulness, till her family has increased to a painful extent."

"O dear me!" cried Alexia, with great emphasis. "I should think they'd be under foot in every room."

"Well, indeed they're not," said Polly; "she keeps them up in her playroom."

"And the playroom closet," said Mrs. Whitney, "that is full. I peeped in there yesterday, and the dolls are ranged according to the times when father gave them to her."

"And the baby-house is just crowded," laughed Jasper. "I know, because I saw her moving out her chairs and tables to make room."

"O dear me!" exclaimed Alexia again, for want of something else to say.

"I just hate dolls," exploded Dick. "Faugh! how can girls play with them; they're so silly. And Phronsie always has something to do for hers, so she can't come when I want her to. I wish they were burned up," he added vindictively.

Mr. King rubbed his forehead in a puzzled way. "Perhaps she has enough," he said at last. "Yet what shall I give her if I don't buy a doll?"

"I'd give her the phonograph one, father," said Mrs. Whitney, "anyway."

"Yes, of course; but after that, what shall I do?"

He looked so troubled that Mrs. Whitney hastened to say, "Oh, well, father! you know when you are abr"—and the secret Was nearly out for the second time!

But they were saved by the appearance of Alexia's father, who often dropped in on the edge of the dinner hour, for a second cup of coffee.

The next morning Phronsie was waiting for Grandpapa King, who insisted that no one else should carry her downstairs, the remainder of the household in various stages of delight and expectation, revolving around her, and curbing their impatience as best they might, in hall and on staircase.

"Oh, Grandpapa! do hurry," begged Dick, kicking his heels on the stairs.

"Hush, Dicky boy," said mamma. "Grandpapa can't come till his agent is gone. Don't you hear them talking in the library?"

"Well I wish Mr. Frazer would take himself off; he's a nuisance," declared the boy. "He's been here a whole hour."

"Here comes Grandpapa!" announced Polly gleefully, from a station nearer the library. "Hush, now, Mr. Frazer's going!"

The library door opening at this announcement, and a few sentences charged with business floating up the staircase, the bustle around Phronsie became joyfully intense.

"Mamsie, don't you think she ought to have a shawl on?" cried Polly anxiously, running over the stairs. "She's been shut up so long!"

"No," said Mother Fisher. "Doctor told me particularly not to bundle her up. It was the last thing he said before he went to his office."

"Well," said Polly with a sigh, "then there isn't absolutely anything more to do for her. Why doesn't Grandpapa come?"

"You are worse than Dicky," said Mrs. Fisher with a little laugh. "Dear me, Polly, just think how old you are."

Phronsie stood quite still in the middle of the floor and folded her hands. "I want to see Grandpapa all alone when he comes up," she said.

"What for?" cried Polly, pausing in astonishment.

"Do you want us all to go out, Phronsie?" asked her mother slowly.

"Yes," said Phronsie, shaking her yellow head with great decision, "please every single one go out, Mamsie. I want to see Grandpapa quite alone."

"All right, child," said Mrs. Fisher, with a look at Polly. So after a little demur and consequent delay on the part of the others, the door was closed and she was left standing all alone.

Phronsie drew a long breath. "I wish Grandpapa would come," she said to herself.

"And so you wanted me, did you, dear?" cried Mr. King joyfully, as he hurried in and closed the door carefully. "Well, now, see if I can guess what you want to tell me."

"Grandpapa," said Phronsie, standing quite still and turning a puzzled face toward him, "I don't want to tell you anything; I want to ask you something."

"Well, well, dear, what is it?" Old Mr. King, not stopping for a chair, leaned over her and stroked her yellow head. "Now, then, look up, and ask me right off, Phronsie."

"Must a person keep a promise?" asked Phronsie, "a really and truly promise, Grandpapa?"

"Yes, yes," said the old gentleman with great abruptness, "to be sure one must, Phronsie. To be sure. So now if any one has promised you anything, do you make him stick to it. It's mean enough to break your word, child."

Phronsie drew a long breath.

"That's all, Grandpapa," she said, and lifting up her arms; "now take me downstairs, please." She laid a cool little cheek against his, as he raised her to his shoulder.

"Remember what I say, Phronsie," laughed Mr. King, his mind more intent on the delightful fact that he was carrying down the longed-for burden to the family life, than on what he was saying, "and if any one has promised you anything, keep him up sharp to pay you. I verily believe it is that scamp Dick. Here goes!" and reaching the door he threw it wide. "Forward, march!"

"Well, is the important conference over?" asked Polly, with a keen look at them both.

Mrs. Fisher's eyes did their duty, but she said nothing.

"Yes, indeed," declared Mr. King, marching on gaily. "Now clear the way there, all you good people. Here, you Dick, drumming your heels, go ahead, sir."

"I'm glad enough to," shouted Dick, racing down the remainder of the stairs. "Halloo, Phronsie," waving his hand at her, "three cheers and a tiger! Bother! Here comes Mrs. Chatterton."

Which was quite true. To every one's astonishment the door of that lady's apartment opened slowly, disclosing her in new morning wrapper, preparing to join the cavalcade.

"Good morning, Cousin Eunice," cried Mr. King gaily. He could be merry with any one this day. "Come on, this is a festal occasion, you see; Phronsie's going downstairs for the first time. Fall into line!"

"I'm not able to go down," said Mrs. Chatterton, coming slowly out into the hall, "but I'll stand here and see the parade."

"Bully!" exploded Dick softly, peering up from the foot of the stairs.

Phronsie looked over Mr. King's shoulder at her as she was borne down the stairs, and, putting out her hand, "I'm all well now," she said.

"Yes, I see," said Mrs. Chatterton. Then she pulled up her white shawl with a shiver. "It's rather cold here," she said; "after all, I believe I must get back to my room."

Nobody noticed when she crept back, the hilarity now being so great below stairs.

"I certainly am losing ground," she muttered, "every little thing affects me so. I'll step into Bartram's office next time I go down town and set that little matter straight, since I've made up my mind to do it. It never would do to let him come to the house. Horatio would suspect something to see my lawyer here, and the whole household imagine I was going to die right off. No, no; I must go there, that's clear. Then if it's attended to, I'll live all the longer, with nothing on my mind."

Phronsie, meanwhile, was going around from room to room in a pleased way, and touching different objects gently "Everything's new, isn't it, Polly," she said at last, "when you stay upstairs? Oh! there's my kittens in the basket," pointing to a bisque vase on the table.

"Yes," said Polly; "Mamsie brought it in here. And we've some flowers; Alexia sent them over. They're out in the back hall; we saved them for you to put in yourself."

"Oh!" exclaimed Phronsie, "that's so good in you, Polly."

"Don't stop now," cried Dick in disgust. "Faugh! you can fix flowers any time. Come out into the dining-room—and you'll see something you'll like."

Phronsie smothered a sigh, and turned slowly away from the kittens waiting in their basket for Alexia's flowers. "Come on!" shouted Dick, seizing her hand. "You never can guess what it is, in all this world."

"Is it a new dog?" asked Phronsie fearfully, whose memory of Dick's latest purchase was not altogether happy.

"No," said Dick, pulling her on, "better than that."

"Don't hurry her so," said Polly. "What have you got, Dick?"

"Now, do you mind, sir," cried Jasper, "else well stop your pretty plan."

"I won't hurry her," said Dick, slackening his gait. "Well, here we are," opening the dining-room door. "Why, Jane has let it out!"

Phronsie fell back a step at this and tried to cover her feet with her gown, searching the floor for the "it."

"Lookout!" cried Dick suddenly. "There he goes!" And something whirred over Phronsie's head.

"Oh! what is it?" she cried, tumbling into Jasper's arms and clasping his neck. "Oh! oh!"

"Why, it's a swallow," cried Dick, in the babel that ensued, "a beautiful one, too. I've just caught him, and I made Jane let me bring it in here to surprise you," he added proudly.

"Well, you've succeeded," cried Jasper, holding Phronsie close. "There, there, child, it's all right. It's a bird, Phronsie, and he's gone upstairs."

"He'll frighten my dolls," cried Phronsie in new alarm, hanging to Jasper's neck. "Oh! do let us go upstairs, and tell them he's only a bird."

"Run along, Dick, and catch your old bird," cried Jasper, "and clear out with him—quick now!"

"He's the best thing there is in this house," cried Dick, going over the back stairs two at a time. "Girls are so silly."

"Bring him down," said Polly, moving along to the foot, "and I'll show him to Phronsie, and tell her about him. Then she'll like him, Dick."

"I'll like him, Dick," echoed Phronsie, "if he doesn't frighten my dolls."

This episode taking the family life to the rear of the house, no one noticed that soft footsteps were passing through the open front door, that Jane, who was sweeping the vestibule, had left ajar to run and tell Dick that she had not let the bird out of the dining-room. So the uninvited guest to the household let himself up easily to the scene of his hopes—the location of the ladies' jewel-boxes.



XX

THE SECRET

Mrs. Chatterton, standing by her toilet table, carefully examining her wealth of gray hair to note the changes in its tint, was suddenly surprised in the very act of picking out an obnoxious white hair, by a slight noise in the further corner of the apartment. And dropping her fingers quickly and turning away from the glass, she exclaimed, "How dare you, Hortense, come in without knocking?"

"If you make a noise I'll kill you," declared a man, standing in the shadow of a portiere and watching her underneath a slouched black hat. There was a slight click that caused the listener's nerves to thrill. But her varied life had brought her nothing if not self-control, and she coolly answered, "If you want my money, say so."

"Not exactly money, ma'am," said the man, "for I don't suppose you have much here. But I'll thank you to hand over that there box of diamonds." He extended the other hand with its dingy fingers toward a large ebony jewel-case elaborate with its brass hinges, and suggestive of double locks, on a corner of the table.

"If you are determined to take it, I suppose I must give it to you," said Mrs. Chatterton, with evident reluctance handing the box designated, very glad to think she had but a few days before changed the jewels to another repository to escape Hortense's prying eyes. In making the movement she gave a sweeping glance out the window. Should she dare to scream? Michael was busy on the lawn, she knew; she could hear his voice talking to one of the under gardeners.

"See here, old lady," warned the man, "you keep your eyes in the room. Now then," his greedy glance fastened on the glittering gems on her fingers, "I'll thank you to rip them things off." Dick, racing along the further end of the hall after his bird with a "Whoop, la—I've almost caught you," startling him, he proceeded to perform the service for himself.

"There he goes!" cried Dick, "in her room. Bother! Well, I must catch him." So without the preamble of knocking, the boy dashed into the dressing-room. The bird whizzing ahead of him, flashed between the drawn folds of the portiere.

"Excuse me," cried Dick, rushing in, "but my swallow—oh!"

"Go back!" cried Mrs. Chatterton hoarsely, "you'll be killed."

The bird flying over his head, and the appearance of the boy, disconcerted the robber for one instant. He held the long white hand in his, tearing off the rings. There was no chance for her to escape, she knew, but she could save Dick.

"Go back!" she screamed again. There was only a moment to think, but Dick dashed in, and with a mighty spirit, but small fists, he flung himself against the stalwart arms and shoulders.

"O heavens!" screamed Mrs. Chatterton. "He's but a boy, let him go. You shall have the rings. Help—help!"

Dick, clutching and tearing blindly at whatever in the line of hair or ragged garment he could lay hold of, was waging an unequal warfare. But what he did was accomplished finely. And the bird, rushing blindly into the midst of the contention, with whirrings and flappings indescribable, helped more than an army of servants, to confuse the man. Notwithstanding, it was soon over, but not before Mrs. Chatterton had wrenched her fingers free, and grasped the pistol from its loose hold in his other hand. The box under his arm fell to the floor, and Dick was just being tossed to the other side of the room; she could hear him strike the cheval-glass with a dull thud.

"I can shoot as well as you," said Mrs. Chatterton, handling the pistol deftly. "Make a noise, and I will."

He knew it, by her eyes, and that she had taken good aim.

"Where are you, Dick?" cried Polly's voice outside, and rapping at the door. "Mrs. Chatterton, have you seen him?"

"Come in," called Mrs. Chatterton, with firmest of fingers on the trigger and her flashing eyes fastened upon the seamed, dirty face before her.

Polly threw wide the door.

"We have a man here that we don't want," said Mrs. Chatterton. "I'll take care of him till you get help. Hurry!"

"Oh, Dick!" cried Polly in a breath, with a fearful glance at the boy lying there.

"I think he's all right, Polly." She dared say no more, for Dick had not stirred.

Polly clasped her hands, and rushed out almost into Jasper's face. "A burglar—a burglar!" and he dashed into Mrs. Chatterton's room.

"Don't interfere," said Mrs. Chatterton. "I'm a splendid markswoman."

"You needn't shoot," said the man sullenly. "I won't stir."

"No, I don't think you will," said the gray-haired woman, her eyes alight, and hand firm as a rock. "Well, here are the men."

Jasper had seized a table-spread, and as Michael and the undergardeners advanced, he went back of the robber, and cleverly threw it over his head. It was easy to secure and bind him then. Polly rushed over to Dick.

"Turn the creature over and let us see how he looks," said Mr. King, hurrying in as the last knot of the rope was made fast. The old slouched hat had fallen off in the struggle, and the man's features came plainly to view. "He's no beauty, and that's a fact."

"I've seen that fellow round here for many a day," said Michael, giving the recumbent legs a small kick. "Oncet he axed me ef we wanted ony wourk done. I mind yees, yer see," with another attention from his gardening boot.

"I want to tie one rope," cried a voice. Dick opened his eyes, rubbed them, and felt of his head. "I'm all right, Polly. I saw stars, but I've got over it, I guess. Let me give him the last knot." He staggered blindly to his feet.

"I'll tie for you," said Jasper, "trust me, Dick's all right, only stunned," he telegraphed to the rapidly increasing group.

"Tell his mother so, do, somebody," said old Mr. King.

"Well, Cousin Eunice, you've covered yourself with glory," he turned on her warmly. She had thrown aside the pistol, and now sank into a chair.

"Never mind," she waved it off carelessly, "I'll imagine the compliments. Just now I want a glass of wine. Call Hortense, will you?"

The man on the floor tried to raise his head. But he couldn't, so was obliged to content himself with an ugly grin.

"That bird has flown," he said. "I'll peep. She put me up to it; we was goin' shares on the old lady's stuff."

With that Mrs. Chatterton's spirit returned. She sprang from her chair, and rushed around from bureau to closet to see the extent of her maid's dishonesty. But beyond a few minor deficiencies of her wardrobe, there was no robbery to speak of. Evidently Hortense had considered it unwise to be burdened with much impedimenta. So the robber was hauled off to justice, and Phronsie, coming wonderingly up the stairs, came softly in upon them, in time to see Dick rush up to Mrs. Chatterton with a "You're a brick!" before them all.

After that, there was no more hope of keeping things quiet in the house for Phronsie's sake. Meanwhile the bird, who had played no mean part in the engagement, now asserted himself, and blindly rushed into capture.

"Isn't he lovely!" cried Phronsie, tearing her gaze off from the wonderful wings, as the swallow fluttered under the mosquito netting speedily brought in.

"Yes, his wings are," said Polly. "Oh, Dick! do tell over again how it all happened."

So Dick rehearsed once more as far as he knew the story, tossing off lightly his part of it.

"Your poor head, does it ache?" cried Polly, feeling of the big bump on the crown.

"No, not a bit," declared Dick, shaking his brown poll. "I'm glad I didn't crack the glass."

"That heavy plate?" cried Polly, looking over at the cheval-glass with a shiver.

Phronsie deserted the fascinating bird, and began to smooth Dick's head with both hands.

"Do let me bathe it," she begged. "I'll get the Pond's Extract."

"No, I won't," said Dick. "It smells awfully, and I've had so much of it for my leg. I'm all right, Phronsie. See his wings now—he's stretching."

But Phronsie was not to be diverted from her purpose.

"I'll get bay rum," she said. "May I?"

Dick made a wry face. "Worse and worse."

"Cologne, then."

"No, I hate it."

"He doesn't want it bathed, Phronsie dear," said Polly. "Boys like to get hurt, you know. 'Tisn't manly to be fixed up."

Phronsie gave a sigh, which so went to Dick's heart, that he said, "All right, bring on some water if you want to. But don't get any brown paper; I had enough of that when I was a boy."

And at the end of that exciting day, the secret came out, after all, in rather a tame fashion. Dr. Fisher and Jasper met Polly in an angle of the hall, as she was running upstairs after dinner for her schoolbooks.

"Polly," asked the little doctor, putting both hands on her shoulders, and looking into the brown eyes, "should you be willing to go abroad with your mother and Phronsie, Mr. King and Jasper?"

"Oh!" Polly gasped. "But you?" came in a later breath, "we couldn't leave you," she cried loyally.

"Well, I suppose I should go along too," said the little doctor, enjoying her face.

"Why, Jasper Elyot King!" cried Polly, slipping out from under the doctor's palms, and seizing the two hands extended, she began to spin around as in the olden days, "did you ever, ever hear of anything so perfectly magnificent! But Ben and Joel and Davie!" and she paused on the edge of another pirouette.

Dr. Fisher made haste to answer, "Polly, Mrs. Whitney will take care of them." And Jasper led her off into the dance again.

"How can we ever leave the boys! Oh! I don't see," cried Polly, a bit reproachfully, her hair blown over her rosy cheeks. As they danced lightly down the long hall, Dr. Fisher leaned against a pillar, and watched them.

"Have to," said Jasper, guiding his partner deftly in the intricacies of the chairs and statuary. "That's a good spin, Polly," he said, as they brought up by the little doctor's side.

"Lovely!" said Polly, pushing back her locks from the sparkling eyes.

"I'm almost tempted to dance myself," said Dr. Fisher. "If I wasn't such an old fellow, I'd try; that is, if anybody asked me."

"I will," said Polly, laughing. "Come, Papa Fisher," holding out her hand, "do give me the honor."

"All right," said Dr. Fisher bravely. So Jasper took the deserted post by the pillar, and whistled a Strauss waltz. Thereupon a most extraordinary hopping up and down the hall was commenced, the two figures bobbing like a pair of corks on a quivering water-surface.

The doors opened, and several faces appeared, amongst the number Mrs. Fisher's.

"I couldn't help it," said the little doctor, coming up red and animated, and wiping his forehead. His spectacles had fallen off long since, and he had let them go. "It looked so nice to see Jasper and Polly, I thought I'd try it. I didn't suppose I'd get on so well; I really believe I can dance."

"Humph!" laughed Mr. King, "it looks like it. Just see Polly."

"Oh, Papa Fisher!" cried Polly with a merry peal in which Jasper, unpuckering his lips from the Strauss effort, had joined, "we must have looked"—Here she went off again.

"Yes," said Jasper, "you did. That's just it, Polly, you did. Lucky you two caperers didn't break anything."

"Well, if you've got through laughing," observed Dr. Fisher, "I'll remark that the secret is out."

"Do you like it, Polly?" asked Mr. King, holding out his hand. "Say, my girl?" And then before she could answer, he went on, "You see, we can't do anything without a doctor on our travels. Now Providence has given us one, though rather an obstinate specimen," he pointed to Father Fisher. "And he wants to see the hospitals, and you want to study a bit of music, and your mother wants rest, and Jasper and Phronsie and I want fun, so we're going, that's all."

"When?" demanded Polly breathlessly.

"In a month."



XXI

THE WHITNEYS' LITTLE PLAN

"I think it's a mean shame," cried Joel, on a high vindictive key. "You've had burglars here twice, and I haven't been home."

"You speak as if we appointed the meeting, Joe," said Ben with a laugh.

"Well, it's mean, anyway," cried Joel, with a flash of his black eyes. "Now there won't any come again in an age."

"Goodness, I hope not," ejaculated Mr. King, lowering his newspaper to peer over its top.

"I'd have floored him," declared Joel, striking out splendidly from the shoulder, "if I'd only have been here."

"All very well," said Percy negligently, "but you weren't here," and he laughed softly.

"Do you mean to say that I couldn't have handled the burglar?" demanded Joel belligerently, and advancing on Percy, "say? Because if you do, why, I'll try a bout with you."

"I didn't say anything what you could or couldn't do. I said you weren't here, and you weren't. That's enough," and Percy turned his back on him, thrust his hands in the pockets of his morning jacket and stalked to the window.

Van opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it, and gave a low whistle. Joel, finding no enthusiasm for tales of his fighting prowess, ran off to interview Dick on the old topic of the burglary and to obtain another close account of its details.

"To think Phronsie saw the other burglar five years ago, and now Dick was on hand for this one—those two babies," he fumed, "and none of us men around."

"Percy," said Van, "come out in the hall, will you?"

"What do you want?" asked Percy lazily.

"Oh! you come along," cried Van, laying hold of his jacket. "See here," dropping his voice cautiously, as he towed him successfully out, "let's give Joe a chance to see a burglar; he wants to so terribly."

"What do you mean?" asked Percy, with astonished eyes, his hands still in his pockets.

Van burst into a loud laugh, then stopped short. "It'll take two of us," he whispered.

"Oh, Van!" exclaimed Percy, and pulling his hands from their resting places, he clapped them smartly together.

"But we ought not, I really suppose," he said at last, letting them fall to his sides. "Mamma mightn't like it, you know."

"She wouldn't mind," said Van, yet he looked uneasy. "It would be a great comfort to every one, to take Joe down. He does yarn so."

"It's an old grudge with you," said Percy pleasantly. "You know he beat you when you were a little fellow, and he'd just come."

"As if I cared for that," cried Van in a dudgeon, "that was nothing. I didn't half try; and he went at me like a country sledge-hammer."

"Yes, I remember," Percy nodded placidly, "and you got all worsted and knocked into a heap. Everybody knew it."

"Do you suppose I'd pound a visitor?" cried Van wrathfully, his cheeks aflame. "Say, Percy Whitney?"

"No, I don't," said Percy, "not when 'twas Joe."

"That's just it. He was Polly's brother."

At mention of Polly, Percy's color rose, and he put out his hand. "Beg pardon, Van," he said. "Here, shake, and make up. I forgot all about our promise," he added penitently.

"I forgot it, too," declared Van, quieting down, and thrusting out his brown palm to meet his brother's. "Well, I don't care what you say if you'll only go halves in this lark," he finished, brightening up.

"Well, I will," said Percy, to make atonement.

"Come up to our room, then, and think it out," cried Van gleefully, flying over the stairs three at a bound. "Sh—sh! and hurry up!"

Just then the door-bell gave a loud peal, and Jencks the butler opened it to receive a box about two feet long and one broad.

"For Miss Phronsie Pepper," said the footman on the steps, holding it out, "but it's not to be given to her till to-morrow."

"All right," said Jencks, taking it. "That's the sixth box for Miss Phronsie that I've took in this morning," he soliloquized, going down the hall and reading the address carefully. "And all the same size."

"Ding-a-ling," Jencks laid the parcel quickly on one of the oaken chairs in the hall, and hurried to the door, to be met by another parcel for "Miss Phronsie Pepper: not to be given to her till to-morrow."

"And the i-dentical size," he ejaculated, squinting at it as he went back to pick up the first parcel, "as like as two peas, they are."

Upstairs Polly was at work with happy fingers, Alexia across the room, asking every third minute, "Polly, how does it go? O dear! I can't do anything unless you look and see if it's right."

And Polly would turn her back on a certain cloud of white muslin and floating lace, and flying off to Alexia to give the necessary criticism, with a pull here and a pat there, would set matters straight, presently running back to her own work again.

"You see," she said, "everything must be just right, for next to Mamsie's wedding, this is to be the most important occasion, Alexia Rhys, that we've ever known. We can't have anything too nice for Phronsie's getting-well party."

"That's so," said Alexia, twitching a pink satin bow on the handle of a flower-basket. "O dear me! this bow looks like everything! I've tried six different times to make it hang down quite careless and refined. And just to provoke me, it pokes up like a stiff old thing in my face. Do come and tie it, Polly."

So Polly jumped up again, and laying determined fingers on the refractory bow, sent it into a shape that Alexia protested was "too lovely for anything."

"Are you going to have a good-by party?" asked Alexia after a minute.

"I suppose so," said Polly. "Grandpapa said I would better, but O dear me, I don't believe I can ever get through with it in all this world," and Polly hid her face behind a cloud of muslin that was slowly coming into shape as a dress for one of Phronsie's biggest dolls.

"It will be dreadful," said Alexia, with a pathetic little sniff, and beginning on a second pink bow, "but then, you know, it's your duty to go off nicely, and I'm sure you can't do it, Polly, without a farewell party."

"Yes," said Polly slowly, "but then I'd really rather write little notes to all the girls. But I suppose they'll all enjoy the party," she added.

"Indeed they will," declared Alexia quickly. "O dear me, I wish I was going with you. You'll have a perfectly royal time.

"I'm going to work hard at my music, you know," declared Polly, raising her head suddenly, a glow on her round cheek.

"Oh! well, you'll only peg away at it when you've a mind," said Alexia carelessly, and setting lazy stitches. "Most of the time you'll be jaunting around, seeing things, and having fun generally. Oh! don't I wish I was going with you."

"Alexia Rhys!" cried Polly in astonishment, and casting her needle from her, she deserted the muslin cloud summarily. "Only peg away when I have the mind?" she repeated indignantly. "Well, I shall have the mind most of the time, I can tell you. Why, that's what I am going abroad for, to study music. How can I ever teach it, if I don't go, pray tell?" she demanded, and now her eyes flashed, and her hands worked nervously.

"Oh! nonsense," cried Alexia, not looking at the face before her, and going on recklessly, "as if that meant anything, all that talk about your being a music-teacher, Polly," and she gave a little incredulous laugh.

Polly got out of her chair somehow, and stood very close to the fussing fingers over the pink satin bow. "Do you never dare say that to me again," she commanded; "it's the whole of my life to be a music-teacher—the very whole."

"Oh, Polly!" down went the satin bow dragging with it Alexia's spool of silk and the dainty scissors. "Don't—don't—I didn't mean anything; but you really know that Mr. King will never let you be a music-teacher in all this world. Never; you know it, Polly. Oh! don't look like that; please don't."

"He will," said Polly, in a low but perfectly distinct voice, "for he has promised me."

"Well, he'll get out of it somehow," said Alexia, her evil genius urging her on, "for you know, Polly, it would be too queer for any of his family, and—and a girl of our set, to turn out a music-teacher. You know, Polly, that it would."

And Alexia smiled in the most convincing way and jumped up to throw her arms around her friend.

"If any of the girls in our set," said Polly grandly, and stepping off from Alexia, "wish to draw away from me, they can do so now. I am to be a music-teacher; I'm perfectly happy to be one, I want you all to understand. Just as happy as I can possibly be in all this world. Why, it's what I've been studying and working for, and how else do you suppose I can ever repay dear Grandpapa for helping me?" Her voice broke, and she stopped a minute, clasping her hands tightly to keep back the rush of words.

"Oh, Polly!" cried Alexia in dismay, and beginning to whimper, she tried again to put her arm around her.

"Don't touch me," said Polly, waving her off with an imperative hand.

"Oh, Polly! Polly!"

"And the rest of our set may feel as you do; then I don't want them to keep on liking me," said Polly, with her most superb air, and drawing off further yet.

"Polly, if you don't stop, you'll—you'll kill me," gasped Alexia. "Oh, Polly! I don't care what you are. You may teach all day if you want to, and I'll help get you scholars. I'll do anything, and so will all the girls; I know they will. Polly, do let me be your friend just as I was. O, dear, dear! I wish I hadn't said anything—I wish I had bitten my tongue off; I didn't think you'd mind it so much," and now Alexia broke down, and sobbed outright.

"You've got to say it's glorious to teach," said Polly, unmoved, and with her highest air on, "and that you're glad I'm going to do it."

"It's glo—glorious to teach," mumbled poor Alexia behind her wet handkerchief.

"And I'm glad you're going to do it," dictated Polly inflexibly.

"I'm glad you're going to do it," echoed Alexia in a dismal tone.

"Then I'll be your friend once more," consented Polly with a slow step toward Alexia, "that is, if you never in all this world say such a dreadful thing again, Alexia Rhys."

"Don't ask me. You know I won't," promised Alexia, her spirits rising. So Polly went over to her and set a kiss on her wet cheek, comforting her as only Polly could, and before long the pink satin bow, with the spool of silk hanging to it, and the scissors were found under the table, and Polly attacked the muslin cloud with redoubled vigor, and the girls' voices carried merry laughter and scraps of happy talk, and Mrs. Chatterton stole out of the little reading-room next to them and shut herself up in her own apartment.

"Dear me, how fine that doll's gown is to be, Polly," exclaimed Alexia after a bit. "Is the lace going on all around the bottom?"

"Yes," said Polly, biting off her thread, and giving the muslin breadths a little shake; "Felicie is tucking the flounce; then I shall have to sew on the lace."

"How many dolls are there to refurbish before to-morrow?" asked Alexia suddenly.

"Four—no, five," said Polly, rapidly counting; "for the one that Grandpapa gave her Christmas before last, Celestine, you know, does need a new waist. I forgot her. But that doesn't count the new sashes, and the hair ribbons and the lace ruffles around the necks; I guess there are almost fifty of them. Dear me, I must hurry," and she began to sew faster yet.

"What a nuisance all those dolls are," said Alexia, "they take up every bit of your spare time."

"That isn't the worst of it," said Polly. "Alexia, I don't know what we shall do, for Phronsie works over them till she's quite tired out. You ought to see her this morning."

"She's up in the play-house at it now, I suppose," said Alexia, "dressing every one of them for the party to-morrow."

"Yes," said Polly, "she is."

"Well, I hope no one will give her a doll to-morrow," said Alexia, "at least no one but Mr. King. Of course he will."

"Oh! no one else will," declared Polly cheerfully. "Of course not, Alexia."

And then Jencks walked in with his seven boxes exactly alike as to size, and deposited them solemnly in a row on the blue and white lounge. "For Miss Phronsie Pepper, and not to be opened till to-morrow, Miss Mary."

"Polly," said Alexia in a stage whisper, and jumping up as Jencks disappeared, to run over to the row, "do you suppose they are dolls?"

"I shall die if they are," declared Polly desperately, and sitting quite still.

"They surely look like dolls on the very covers," said Alexia, fingering the cords. "Would it be so very wrong to open one box, and just relieve our suspense? Just one, Polly?"

"No, no, don't," cried Polly sharply. "They belong to Phronsie. But O dear me!"

"And just think," said Alexia, like a Job's comforter, and looking over at the clock, "it's only half-past eleven. Polly Pepper, there's time for oceans more to come in yet."

"It's perfectly horrid to get such a scrap of an outing," said Joel that night, sprawling on the rug before the library fire, "only four days! Why couldn't Mr. Marks be sick longer than that, if he was going to be sick at all, pray?"

"These four days will give you strength for your 'exams,' won't they, Joe?" asked Van.

Joel turned his black eyes on him and coolly said "Yes," then made a wry face, doubled up a bit of paper, and aimed it at Van.

Davie sighed, and looked up anxiously. "I hope Mr. Marks will come out all right so that we can go back Monday."

"I only hope he'll stay ill," said Joel affectionately. "'Tisn't safe anyway for us to go back Monday. It may be typhoid fever, you know, Mamsie," looking over at her.

"They'll let us know soon enough if that's the case," said Mother Fisher in the lamp-light over by the center-table. "No, I expect your letter to-morrow will say 'Come Monday.'"

"Well, it's a downright shame for us to be pulled off so soon," cried Joel indignantly, sitting straight.

"Think how soon the term ends, Joe," cried Polly, "then you have such a long outing." She sighed as she thought of the separation to come, and the sea between them.

"That's nothing; only a dreadful little time—soon will be gone," grunted Joel, turning his face to look at the brightly-leaping flames the cool evening had made necessary.

Ben glanced over at Polly. "Don't talk of the summer," he was going to say, but stopped in time. Phronsie set her doll carefully in the corner of the sofa, and went over to Joel.

"Does your head ache often at school, Joel?" she asked, softly laying her cool little palm on his stubby hair.

"Yes," said Joel, "it does, awfully, Phronsie; and nobody cares, and says 'Stop studying."

A shout greeted this.

"That's too bad," said Phronsie pityingly, "I shall just write and ask Mr. Marks if he won't let you stop and rest when it aches."

"'Twouldn't do any good, Phronsie," said Joel, "nothing would. He's a regular old grinder, Marks is."

"Mr. Marks," said Phronsie slowly, "I don't know who you mean by Marks, Joel. And what is a grinder, please?" getting down on her knees to look in his face.

"And he works us boys so, Phronsie—you can't think," said Joel, ignoring the question.

"What is a grinder, Joel, please tell me," repeated Phronsie with gentle persistence.

"Oh! a grinder is a horrid buffer," began Joel impatiently.

"Joel," said Mrs. Fisher, reprovingly. The fire in her black eyes was not pleasant to look at, and after one glance, he turned back to the blazing logs once more.

"I can't help it," he muttered, picking up the tongs to poke the fire.

"Don't ever let me hear that excuse from a son of mine," said Mother Fisher scornfully. "Can't help it. I'd be master of myself, that's one thing."

Joel set the tongs back with an unsteady hand. They slipped and fell to the hearth with a clang.

"Mamsie, I didn't mean," he began, finding his feet. And before any one could draw a long breath, he rushed out of the room.

There was a dreadful pause. Polly clasped her hands tightly together, and looked at her mother. Mrs. Fisher quietly put her sewing into the big basket and got out of her chair.

"Oh! what is the matter with Joey?" cried Phronsie, standing quite still by the deserted hearth-rug. "Mamsie, do you suppose his head aches?"

"I think it must," said Mrs. Fisher gravely. Then she went out very quietly and they could hear her going up the stairs.

With a firm step she went into her own room, and turned up the gas. The flash revealed Joel, face downward on the broad, comfortable sofa. Mrs. Fisher went over and closed the door, then came to his side.

"I thought, my boy," she said, "that I should find you here. Now then, tell mother all about it," and lifting his head, she sat down and took it into her lap.

"O dear!" cried Joel, burrowing deep in the comfortable lap, "O dear—O dear!"

"Now, that is silly, Joey," said Mother Fisher, "tell me at once what all this trouble is about," passing her firm hands over his hot forehead, and trying to look in his face. But he struggled to turn it away from her.

"In the first place I just hate school!" he exploded.



XXII

JOEL

"Hate school?" cried Mother Fisher. "Oh, Joey! think how Ben wanted more schooling, only he wouldn't take the chance when Mr. King offered it to him because he felt that he must be earning money as soon as possible. Oh, Joey!"

That "Oh, Joey!" cut deeply. Joel winced and burrowed deeper under his mother's fingers.

"That's just it," he cried. "Ben wanted it, and I don't. I hate it, and I don't want to go back."

"Don't want to go back?" repeated Mrs. Fisher in dismay.

"No, I don't. The fellows are always twitting me, and every one gets ahead of me, and I'm everlastingly staying in from ballgames to make up lessons, and I'd like to fire the books, I would," cried Joel with venom.

Mrs. Fisher said nothing, but the hands still stroked the brown stubby head in her lap.

"And nobody cares for me because I won't be smart like the others, but I can't help it, I just hate school!" finished Joel in the same strain.

"Joel," said Mrs. Fisher slowly, "if that is the case, I shall go down to Mr. King and tell him that we, Father Fisher and I, Polly and Phronsie, will not go abroad with him."

Joel bolted upright and, putting down his two hands, brought his black eyes to bear on her.

"What?"

"I shall go directly downstairs and tell Mr. King that Father Fisher and I, Polly and Phronsie, will not go abroad with him," repeated his mother slowly and distinctly while she looked him fully in the face.

"You can't do that," said Joel in amazement. "He's engaged the state- rooms."

"That makes no difference," said Mrs. Fisher, "when a woman has a boy who needs her, nothing should stand in the way. And I must stay at home and take care of you, Joel."

Joel sprang to his feet and began to prance up and down the floor. "I'm big enough to take care of myself, mother," he declared, coming up to her, to prance off again.

"So I thought," said Mrs. Fisher composedly, "or I shouldn't have placed you at Mr. Marks's school."

"The idea, Mamsie, of your staying at home to take care of me," said Joel excitedly. "Why, feel of that." He bared his arm, and coming up, thrust it out for inspection. "Isn't that splendid? I do verily believe I could whip any fellow in school, I do," he cried, regarding his muscles affectionately. "If you don't believe it, just pinch them hard. You don't mean it really, Mamsie, what you said, of course. The idea of staying at home to take care of me," and he began to prance again.

"I don't care how many boys you can whip," observed Mother Fisher coolly, "as long as you can't whip your own self when you're naughty, you're too weak to go alone, and I must stay at home."

Joel stopped suddenly and looked at her.

"And before I'd give up, a boy of thirteen, and beg to be taken away from school because the lessons were hard, and I didn't like to study, I'd work myself to skin and bone but I'd go through creditably." Mrs. Fisher sat straight now as an arrow in her corner of the sofa. "I've said my say, Joel," she finished after a pause, "and now I shall go down and tell Mr. King."

"Mother," howled Joel, dashing across the room to her, "don't go! I'll stay, I will. Don't say that again, about my having to be taken care of like a baby. I'll be good, mother, and study."

"Study doesn't amount to much unless you are glad of the chance," said Mrs. Fisher sharply. "I wouldn't give a fig for it, being driven to it," and her lips curled scornfully.

Joel wilted miserably. "I do care for the chance," he cried; "just try me, and see."

Mrs. Fisher took his sunburnt face between her two hands. "Do you really wish to go back to school, and put your mind on your books? Be honest, now."

"Yes, I do," said Joel, without winking.

"Well, you never told me a lie, and I know you won't begin now," said Mother Fisher, slowly releasing him. "You may go back, Joe; I'll trust you."

"Phronsie," said Jasper, as the sound of the two voices could be heard in Mother Fisher's room, "don't you want to come into my den? I've some new bugs in the cabinet—found a regular beauty to-day."

Phronsie stood quite still just where Joel had left her; her hands were clasped and tears were rolling slowly down her cheeks. "No," she said, without looking at him, "Jasper, I don't."

"Do come, Phronsie," he begged, going over to her, and holding out his hand. "You can't think how nice the new one is, with yellow stripes and two long horns. Come and see it, Phronsie."

"No, Jasper," said the child quietly. Then in the next breath, "I think Joey must be very sick."

"Oh! Mamsie is taking care of him, and he'll soon be all right," broke in Polly cheerily. "Do go with Jasper, Phronsie, do, dear." She took hold of the clasped hands, and smiled up into the drooping face.

But Phronsie shook her head and said "No."

"If Grandpapa should come in and find her so 'twould be very dreadful!" exclaimed Polly, looking over at the five boys, who in this sudden emergency were knocked speechless. "Do let us all play some game. Can't some one think of one?"

"Let us play 'Twenty Questions,'" proposed Jasper brightly. "I'll begin it, I've thought of something."

"That's horrid," cried Van, finding his tongue, "none of us want to play that, I'm sure."

"I do," said David. "I think 'Twenty Questions' is always nice. Is it animal, vegetable or mineral, Jasper?"

"I'm sick of it. Do play something not quite as old as the hills, I beg."

"Well, you think of something yourself, old man," said Jasper, nodding furiously at him. "Hurry up."

"I'd rather have Polly tell a story than any game you could possibly think of," said Van, going over to her, where she sat on the rug at Phronsie's feet. "Polly, will you?" he asked wheedlingly.

"Don't ask her to-night," interposed Jasper.

"Yes, I shall. It's the only time we shall have," said Van, "before we go back to school. Do, Polly, will you?" he begged again.

"I can't think of the first thing," declared Polly, pushing back little rings of brown hair from her forehead.

"Don't try to think; just spin it off," said Van. "Now begin."

"You're a regular nuisance, Van!" exclaimed Jasper indignantly. "Polly, I wouldn't indulge him."

"I know Phronsie wants a story; don't you, Phronsie?" asked Van artfully, and running over to peer into her face.

But to his astonishment, Phronsie stood perfectly still. "No," she said again, "I don't want a story; Joey must be sick."

"Jasper," cried Polly in despair, and springing up, "something must be done. Grandpapa's coming; I hear him."

"Phronsie," said Jasper, bending to speak into her ear, "do you know you are making Polly feel very unhappy? Just think; the next thing I don't know but what she'll cry."

Phronsie unfolded her hands. "Give me your handkerchief, Polly," she said, winking back the rest of the tears.

"Now, there's a dear," cried Polly, pulling out her handkerchief and wiping the wet, little face. None too soon; the door opened and Mr. King came in.

"Well—well—well!" he exclaimed, looking over his spectacles at them all. "Playing games, hey?"

"We're going to," said Ben and Jasper together.

"No, Polly is going to tell a story," said Van loudly, "that is, if you want to hear it, Grandpapa. Do say you do," he begged, going over to whisper in his ear.

"I want immensely to hear it!" declared the old gentleman, pulling up an easy-chair to the fireside. "There now," sitting down, "I'm fixed. Now proceed, my dear."

Van softly clapped his hands. "Phronsie," Mr. King beckoned to her, and then suggestively touched his knee, "here, dear."

Phronsie scurried across the room to his side. "Yes, Grandpapa."

"There, up she goes!" sang Mr. King, swinging her into position on his lap. "Now then, Polly, my child, we are all ready for the wonderful tale. Stay, where is Joel?"

"Joel went upstairs a little while ago," said Jasper quickly. "Well, now, Polly, do begin."

"I'll tell how we went to buy Phronsie's shoes," said Polly, drawing up an ottoman to Mr. King's side. "Now, boys, bring your chairs up."

"Joel ought to know that you are going to tell a story, Polly," said Mr. King. "One of you boys run out and call him at the foot of the stairs."

"He's in Mamsie's room," said Ben. "I suppose when she gets through with him, he'll come down."

"Oh! ah!" said the old gentleman. "Well, Polly, then perhaps you would better proceed."

So Polly began on the never tiresome recital, how Phronsie fell down the stairs leading from the kitchen to the "provision room" in the little brown house, with the bread-knife in her hand; and how, because she cut her thumb so that it bled dreadfully, mother decided that she could at last have a pair of shoes bought especially for her very own self; and how Deacon Brown's old horse and wagon were procured, and they all set forth, except mother, and how they rode to town, and how the Beebes were just as good as gold, and how the red-topped shoes fitted as if they were made for Phronsie's feet, and how they all went home, and how Phronsie danced around the kitchen till she was all tired out, and then went to bed carrying the new shoes with her, and how she fell asleep with—

"Why, I declare," exclaimed Polly, reaching this denouement in a delightfully roundabout way, "if she isn't asleep now!"

And indeed she was. So she had to be carried up to bed in the same old way; only this time it was Jasper instead of Polly who held her.

"Don't you believe we'd better put it off till some other night?" whispered Percy to Van on the way upstairs to bed, the library party having broken up early. "A fellow doesn't want to see a burglar on top of the time Joel has had."

"No, no," said Van; "it'll be good for him, and knock the other thing out of his head, don't you see, Percy? I should want something else to think of if I were Joel. You can't back out; you promised, you know."

"Well, and I'll do it," said Percy testily.

"It's no use trying to sleep," declared Joel, in the middle of the night, and kicking the bed-clothes for the dozenth time into a roll at the foot, "as long as I can see Mamsie's eyes. I'll just get up and tackle that Latin grammar now. Whew! haven't I got to work, though! Might as well begin at it," and he jumped out of bed.

Stepping softly over to the door that led into David's little room, he closed it carefully, and with a sigh, lighted the gas. Then he went over to the table where his schoolbooks ought to have been. But instead, the space was piled with a great variety of things—one or two balls, a tennis racket, and a confusion of fishing tackle, while in front, the last thing that had occupied him that day, lay a book of artificial flies.

Joel set his teeth together hard, and looked at them. "Suppose I shan't get much of this sort of thing this summer," he muttered. "Here goes!" and without trusting himself to take another look, he swept them all off down to the floor and into a corner.

"There," he said, standing up straight, "lie there, will you?" But they loomed up in a suggestive heap, and his fingers trembled to just touch them once.

"I must cover up the things, or else I know I'll be at them," he said, and hurrying over to the bed, he dragged off the cover-lid. "Now," and he threw it over the fascinating mass, "I've GOT to study. Dear me, where are my books?"

For the next five minutes Joel had enough to do to collect his working instruments, and when at last he unearthed them from the corner of his closet where he had thrown them under a pile of boots, he was tired enough to sit down.

"I don't know which to go at first," he groaned, whirling the leaves of the upper book. "It ought to be Latin—but then it ought to be algebra just as much, and as for history—well there—here goes, I'll take them as they come."

With a very red face Joel plunged into the first one under his hand. It proved to be the Latin grammar, and with a grimace, he found the page, and resting his elbows on the table, he seized each side of his stubby head with his hands. "I'll hang on to my hair," he said, and plunged into his task.

And now there was no sound in the room but his hard breathing, and the noise he made turning the leaves, for he very soon found he was obliged to go back many lessons to understand how to approach the one before him; and with cheeks growing every instant more scarlet with shame and confusion, the drops of perspiration ran down his forehead and fell on his book.

"Whew!" he exclaimed, "it's horribly hot," and pushing back his book, he tiptoed over to the other window and softly raised it. The cool air blew into his face, and leaning far out into the dark night, he drew in deep breaths.

"I've skinned through and saved my neck a thousand times," he reflected, "and now I've got to dig like sixty to make up. There's Dave now, sleeping in there like a cat; he doesn't have anything to do, but to run ahead of the class like lightning—just because he"—

"Loves it," something seemed to sting the words into him. Joel drew in his head and turned abruptly away from the window.

"Pshaw! well, here goes," he exclaimed again, throwing himself into his chair. "She said, 'I'd work myself to skin and bone but I'd get through creditably.'" Joel bared his brown arm and regarded it critically. "I wonder how 'twould look all skin and bone," and he gave a short laugh.

"But this isn't studying." He pulled down his sleeve, and his head went over the book again.

Outside, a bright blue eye applied to the keyhole, gave place to a bright brown one, till such time as the persons to whom the eyes belonged, were satisfied as to the condition of the interior they were surveying.

"What do you suppose he's doing?" whispered the taller figure, putting his face concealed under a black mask, closely to the ear of the other person, whose countenance was similarly adorned.

"Don't know," whispered the second black mask. "He acts dreadfully queer, but I suppose he's got a novel. So you see it's our duty to break it up," he added virtuously.

The taller figure shook his head, but as it was very dark on their side of Joel's door, the movement was unobserved.

"Well, come on," whispered the second black mask. "Are you ready?"

Yes.

"Come then."

"O, dear, dear!" grunted Joel, "I'd rather chop wood as I used to, years ago, to help the little brown house out," swinging his arms up over his head. "Why"—

And he was left in darkness, his arms falling nervously to his side, while a cautious step across the room made his black eyes stand out in fright.

"A burglar—a burglar!" flashed through his mind. He held his breath hard and his knees knocked together. But Mamsie's eyes seemed to look with scorn on him again. Joel straightened up, clenched his fist, and every minute expecting to be knocked on the head, he crept like a cat to the further corner, even in this extremity, grumbling inwardly because Mr. King would not allow firearms. "If I only had them now!" he thought. "Well, I must get my club."

But there was no time to get it. Joel creeping along, feeling his way cautiously, soon knew that there were two burglars instead of one in the room, and his mind was made up.

"They'll be after Grandpapa's money, sure," he thought. "I have got to get out, and warn him."

But how? that was the question.

Getting down on all-fours, holding his breath, yet with never a thought of danger to himself, he crept along toward the door leading into the hall, then stopped and rested under cover of the heavy window drapery. But as quick as a flash, two dark figures, that now, his eyes becoming more accustomed to the darkness, he could dimly distinguish, reached there before him, and the key clicking in the lock, Joel knew that all hope from escape by that quarter was gone.

Like a cat, he sprang to his feet, swung the drapery out suddenly toward the figures, and in the next second hurled himself over the window-sill, hanging to the edge, grasping the blind, crawling to the next window, and so on and over, and down, down, by any friendly thing he could grasp, to the ground.

Two black masks hung over the deserted window-edge.

"Joe—Joe! it's only we boys—Percy and Van. Joe—Joe!"

"He'll be killed!" gasped Van, his face as white as Joel's robe fluttering below them in his wild descent. "Stop him, Percy. Oh! do stop him."

Percy clung to the window-sill, and danced in distress. "Stop him!" he was beyond uttering anything more.

"Yes, oh, Joe! don't you see it's only Percy and Van?" cried Van persuasively, and hanging out of the window to the imminent danger of adding himself to Joel's company.

Percy shoved him back. "He's 'most down," he said, finding his breath. "Now we'll run downstairs and let him in."

Van flew off from the window. "I'll go; it's my scrape," and he was unlocking the door.

"I'm the oldest," said Percy, hurrying to get there first. "I ought to have known better."

This made Van furious, and pushing Percy with all his might, he wriggled out first as the door flew open, and not forgetting to tiptoe down the hall, he hurried along, Percy behind him, to hear the noise of men's feet coming over the stairs.

Van tried to rush forward shouting, "Thomas, it's we boys—Percy and Van." Instead, he only succeeded in the darkness, in stumbling over a chair, and falling flat with it amid a frightful racket that drowned his voice.

Old Mr. King who had been awakened by the previous noise, and had rung his burglar alarm that connected with Thomas's and Jencks's rooms in the stable, now cried out from his doorway. "Make quick work, Thomas," and Percy saw the gleam of a pistol held high in Thomas's hand.

Up with a rush came bare feet over the back stairs; a flutter of something white, and Joel sprang in between them. "It's Percy—it's Percy!" he screamed, "don't you see, Thomas?"

"I'm Percy—don't shoot!" the taller burglar kept saying without intermission, while the flaring of candles and frightened voices, told of the aroused household.

"Make quick work, Jencks!" shouted Mr. King from his doorway, to add to the general din.

Thomas, whose blood was up, determined once for all to put an end to the profession of burglary as far as his master's house was concerned, now drew nearer, steadying his pistol and trying to sight the nearest fellow. This proved to be Van, now struggling to his feet.

Joel took one wild step forward. "Thomas—don't shoot! It's Van!"

"Make quick work, Thomas!" called Mr. King.

There was but a moment in which to decide. It was either Van or he; and in an instant Joel had stepped in front of the pistol.



XXIII

OF MANY THINGS

Van threw his arms around Joel. "Make quick work, Thomas," called Mr. King from his doorway. The pistol fell from Thomas's hand. "I've shot one of the boys. Och, murther!" he screamed.

And everybody rushing up supposed it was Van, who was writhing and screaming unintelligibly in the corner.

"Oh! I've killed him," they finally made out.

"Who—who? Oh, Van! who?"

"Joey," screamed Van, bending over a white heap on the floor. "Oh! make him get up. Oh! I've killed him."

The mask was hanging by one end from his white face, and his eyes protruded wildly. Up flew another figure adorned with a second black mask.

"No, no, it was I," and Percy rushed forward with an "Oh, Joel, Joel!"

Somebody lighted the gas, that flashed suddenly over the terrified group, and somebody else lifted the heap from the corner. And as they did so, Joel stirred and opened his eyes.

"Don't make such a fuss," he said crossly. One hand had gripped the sleeve of his night-dress, trying to hold it up in a little wad on the shoulder, the blood pouring down the arm. At sight of this, Van collapsed and slid to the floor.

"Don't frighten Mamsie," said Joel, his head drooping, despite his efforts to hold it up. "I'm all right; nothing but a scratch. Ugh! let me be, will you?" to Mr. Whitney and Jasper, who were trying to support him.

And Mother Fisher, for the first time since the children had known her, lost her self-control.

"Oh, Joey! and mother was cross to you," she could only sob as she reached him.

Polly, at a nod from the little doctor's night-cap and a few hurried words, ran as in a dream for the case of instruments in his bedroom.

"All right, Mamsie!" exclaimed Joel in surprise, and trying to stagger to his feet.

"Good heavens and earth!" cried old Mr. King, approaching. "What? oh! it's monstrous—Joel!"

"Och, murther!" Thomas sidled along the edge of the group, rolling fearful eyes at them, and repeating over and over, "I've shot that boy— that boy!"

All this occupied but an instant, and Joel was laid on his bed, and the wound which proved to be only a flesh one, the ball cutting a little furrow as it grazed the shoulder, was dressed, and everybody drew a long breath. "Tell Van that I'm all right," Joel kept saying all the time.

Polly undertook to do this.

"Van—Van!" she cried, running out into the hall to lay a shaking hand on his arm, where he lay on the floor. "Joel sent me to say that he is all right."

"Polly, I've killed him!" Van thrust his head up suddenly and looked at her, with wild eyes. "I have—don't speak to me, or look at me. I've killed Joel!"

"Take off this dreadful thing," said Polly with a shiver, and kneeling down, she seized the strings that tied the mask. "O dear! it's all in a knot. Wait, I'll get the scissors," and she found her feet, and ran off to her room.

"Now you are all right;" he gave a little sob as the mask tumbled off. "Oh! how could you?" she wanted to say, but Van's distress was too dreadful for anything but comfort.

"Don't you see," said Polly, sitting down on the floor and cuddling up his head in her lap, "that Joel is really all right now? Suppose we hadn't a Father Fisher who was a doctor, what should we do then?" and she even managed a faint laugh.

"O dear! but I've killed Joel." Van covered his face with the folds of her flannel dress and wailed on.

"Now, just see here, Van Whitney," said Polly, with the air of authority, "I tell you that Joel is all right now. Don't you say that again—not once more, Vanny."

"But I have ki—I mean I saw Thomas shoot, and I couldn't stop him," and Van writhed fearfully, ending with a scream "I've ki"—but Polly, clapping her hand over his mouth, kept the words back.

Meanwhile Percy had rushed out of the house.

"Oh!" cried Polly, when this new alarm sprang up, and everybody was running hither and thither to comfort him by the assurance that Joel was not much hurt, "do, Uncle Mason and Jasper, let me go with you."

"No, no, you stay here, Polly," cried Jasper, throwing wide the heavy front door. "Brother Mason and I will find him. Don't worry, Polly."

"I know I could help," said Polly, hanging over the stair-railing. "Oh! do let me," she begged.

"No, no, child," said Mr. Whitney, quickly. "Stay where you are, and take care of the others. Now, then, Jasper, is Jencks ready with the lantern?"

"All right," said Jasper. "Come on."

Polly, longing to fly to the window to watch, at least, the lantern's twinkling light across the lawn, hurried off to comfort Aunt Whitney, who at this new stage in the affairs, was walking her room, biting her lips to keep from screaming the terror that clutched at her heart.

"Oh, Polly!" she cried, "I'm so glad you've come. I should die if left alone here much longer;" her soft hair floated down the white robe, and the blue eyes were filled with tears. "Do tell me, don't you think they will find Percy?"

"Yes, indeed!" declared Polly, cuddling up to the little woman. "Oh, Auntie! remember when Dicky's leg was broken."

"But this is much worse," said Mrs. Whitney, sobbing, and holding close to Polly's warm hand.

"But we thought he was dead," and Polly gave a little shiver.

"Don't—don't," begged Mrs. Whitney, clasping her hands; "Oh, Polly! don't."

"But he wasn't, you see, Auntie," Polly hurried on, "and so now you know it will come out all right about Per—There! Oh! they've found him!" as a shout from the lawn rang out.

"Do you suppose it, Polly?" cried Mrs. Whitney, breathlessly. "Oh! do run to the window and see!"

So Polly ran to the window in the next room that overlooked that part of the lawn where Mr. Whitney and Jasper were searching, and strained her gaze up and down, and in every direction.

"Have they? oh! have they?" cried Mrs. Whitney. "Oh, Polly! do tell me."

"I don't see any of them," said Polly, listening eagerly for another cry, "but I do believe they've found him."

"Do come back," implored Mrs. Whitney; "there, now, don't go again, Polly," as Polly hurried to her side, "but just hold my hand."

"I will," said Polly, "just as tight as I can, Auntie."

"Oh—oh! Percy is so much worse off than Joel," wailed Mrs. Whitney. "Oh! to do such a thing, Polly!" she groaned.

"They only meant it in fun," said Polly, swallowing hard the lump in her throat, "don't let us talk about it, Auntie."

"And Van," cried Mrs. Whitney, running on. "Oh! my poor, poor boys. Will your mother ever forgive me, Polly?"

"Oh, Auntie! don't talk so," said Polly tenderly; "and we both ought to be out helping. There's Van, Auntie; just think how he feels."

"I can't go near him," cried Mrs. Whitney in distress, "as long as he is in Joel's room, for I can see your mother's eyes, Polly. It would kill me to have her look at me."

The door opened at this, and the trail of a long silken wrapper was heard on the floor.

"Mrs. Chatterton," said Mrs. Whitney, raising her head and looking at the new-comer with as much anger as her gentle face could contain, "I really cannot see you in my room to-night. Excuse me, but I am unstrung by all that has occurred. Will you please not come in"—

"I thought I might sit with you," said Mrs. Chatterton. In the brief interval since the arousing of the household, she had contrived to make a perfect breakfast toilet, and she folded her hands over her handsome gown. "Polly might then be with her mother. But if you don't wish me to remain, I will go."

"I do not need you," said Mrs. Whitney, decidedly, and she turned to Polly again.

Mrs. Chatterton moved away, and closed the door after her.

"Auntie," said Polly, "she really wants to help you."

"Polly, you needn't say anything about it," exclaimed Mrs. Whitney, like many other gentle creatures, when roused, becoming unreasonably prejudiced; "I cannot bear the sight of that woman. She has been here so long, and is so intensely disagreeable to us all."

Polly's eyes became very round, and she held her breath in astonishment.

"Don't look so, child," said Mrs. Whitney at length, "you don't understand, my dear. But you would if you were in my place"—

"She's sorry for it," said Polly, finding her tongue at last.

"And father is nearly worn out with her," continued Mrs. Whitney. "And now to come parading her attentions upon me, it"—

"Who—who?" Dicky, now that the excitement in Joel's room had died down, had lost his relish for it, and he now pranced into Mrs. Whitney's room. "Who, mamma?"

"Mrs. Chatterton," said Mrs. Whitney unguardedly. "She has disagreeably intruded herself upon me."

"Has she been in here?" asked Dick in astonishment.

"Yes; asking if she can sit with me," and Polly started at the look in the usually soft blue eyes.

"And you wouldn't let her?" asked Dick, stopping short and regarding his mother curiously.

"Of course not, Dicky," she made haste to say.

"Then I think you did very wrong," declared Dick flatly.

"Oh, Dick!" exclaimed Polly in consternation.

"And you don't act like my mother at all," said Dick, standing quite stiffly on his sturdy legs, and gazing at her with disapprobation. "Didn't Mrs. Chatterton save my life," he exploded, "when the real burglar was going for me? Say, didn't she?" he cried.

"I have yet to find out that is the truth," said Mrs. Whitney, finding her voice. "Oh, Dicky," she added, hurt that he should defend another, worst of all, Mrs. Chatterton, "don't talk about her."

"But I ought to talk about her," persisted Dick. "She saved me as much as she could. Because she won't let anybody thank her, I like her more myself. I'm going to stay with her."

With that, he held his head high, and marched to the door.

"Dick, Dick!" called his mother, "come back, dear."

Dick slowly turned and made his way to her side, but he still regarded her with disapproval.

"Dick, I want you to go to Mrs. Chatterton's room, and say that I am sorry I refused her offer to help, and that I would like to have her sit with me. Remember, say I am sorry I refused her offer to help, Dicky." She leaned forward and kissed her boy, her long, soft hair falling like a veil around the two faces.

Dick threw his arms around her neck.

"Now, you're a brick!" he declared impulsively. "I'll bring the old lady, and we'll both sit with you."

So Polly was free to run back to Mamsie. On the way there she opened the door of Phronsie's little room, just out of Father and Mother Fisher's.

"How good it is that she sleeps through it all," said Polly, listening to the regular breathing. Then she stole across the room and stood beside the small bed.

"She looks just as she did the night she took her new shoes to bed," thought Polly; "one hand is over her head, exactly as it was then. Oh, Phronsie! to think that you're to have no party to-morrow," and she turned off with a sigh, went out, and closed the door.

"Percy's here—all right!" cried Jasper, running over the stairs to meet her at the top.

His eyes were gleaming with excitement, and his face was torn and bleeding.

"Are you hurt?" cried Polly, feeling as if the whole family were bound to destruction. "Oh, Jasper! did you fall?"

"Nothing but a scratch. I was fool enough to forget the ledge, and walked off for my pains"—

"Oh, Jasper!" cried Polly, with paling cheeks, "let me bathe it for you, do;" her strength began to return at the thought of action, and she sprang for a basin of water.

"Nonsense. No, Polly!" cried Jasper, with a quick hand detaining her, "it's nothing but a mere scratch, I tell you, but I suppose it looks terribly. I'll go and wash it off. Run and tell his mother that Percy is found."

"Is he all right?" asked Polly fearfully, holding her breath for the answer.

"Sound as a nut," declared Jasper; "we found him streaking it down the locust path; he said he was going to run off to sea."

"Run off to sea!" repeated Polly. "Oh, Jasper!"

"Well, he was so frightened, of course he didn't know what to say," replied Jasper. "And ashamed, too. He didn't care to show his head at home. I don't know as I blame him, Polly. Well, it's too bad about Phronsie's party, isn't it?" added Jasper, mopping up his face as the two went down the hall.

"Yes," said Polly with a sigh, stopping at Mrs. Whitney's door, "but, oh! think how happy we are now that Percy is safe, Jasper."

"Still, it's too bad for Phronsie," repeated Jasper, looking back.

But Joel flatly declared that the first one that even so much as hinted that a single item of the arrangements for Phronsie's getting-well party should be changed, he'd make it disagreeable as only he knew how, for that one when he got up from his bed. "Yes, sir!" and he scolded, and fretted, and fussed, and laid down the law so generally to all, not excepting the doctor, that at last it was decided to let the party go on. Then he lay back against the pillows quite exhausted, but with a beatific face.

"I should think you would be tired, Joe," exclaimed Jasper, "you've bullied us so. Dear me! people ought to be angelic when they're sick, at least."

"If you'd had him to take care of as I did," observed Dr. Fisher, "you'd know better; goodness me! the little brown house scarcely held him when he was getting over the measles."

"What's the use of being sick," said Joel reflectively, turning on his pillow, "if you can't make people stand around, I'd like to know. Now that point's settled about Phronsie's party, won't you all go out? I'd like to speak to Father Fisher a moment."

"You don't mean me, Joey?" said Mother Fisher at the head of the bed, holding her boy's hand.

"Yes; you, too, Mamsie," said Joel, giving her an affectionate glance, "it's something that only the doctor and I are to know."

"You're not hurt anywhere else, are you, Joey?" asked his mother, a sudden alarm leaping to her black eyes.

"Not a scratch," said Joel promptly. "I want to see Father Fisher about something. Sometime you shall know, Mamsie." He gave her hand a sudden pressure, then let it go.

"Perhaps you would better step out, my dear," said the little doctor, nodding to his wife. So Mrs. Fisher, smothering a sigh, went out reluctantly.

"All out?" asked Joel, trying to raise his head to see for himself.

"Every soul," said Dr. Fisher.

"Well, see here, will you," said Joel, pointing to the table, the schoolbooks scattered as he had left them, "pack those things all away in the closet on the shelf, you know, and put the rubbish on the floor there, back on the table?"

Dr. Fisher could not for his life, refrain from asking curiously, as he did as requested, "Been having a pull at the books, eh, Joe?"

"Um—um—maybe," said Joel, twisting uneasily. "Well, now, come here, please, Father Fisher."

The little man turned away from the table, with its sprawling array of delightful things, to stand by the bedside.

"You must get me well as soon as you can," said Joel confidentially.

"All right; I understand," Dr. Fisher nodded professionally.

"And whatever you say, don't let it be that I must be careful of my eyes," said Joel.

"All right; that is, if you get up quickly," agreed the doctor.

"That's all," said Joel in great satisfaction. "Now, call Mamsie in and the others."

And in the morning, no one told Phronsie what had happened the night before. She only knew that Joel was not very well, and was going to keep his room; all her pleadings to do something for him being set one side by Grandpapa's demands upon her instant attention whenever the idea suggested itself to her. And so the time wore along till the party began.

Alexia was the first to arrive, her bowl of orange jelly in her hand, and after her, a tall slight figure jumped from the carriage, her flaxen hair streaming out in two pale braids.

"I thought I'd pick Cathie up," said Alexia carelessly; "had to pass her door, you know. O dear me, what perfectly dreadful times you had last night, Polly Pepper."

"I didn't bring macaroons," said Cathie, "as I really think that they wouldn't be good for Phronsie. Besides, I've forgotten how to make them, and our cook was cross and said I shouldn't come into her kitchen. But I bought a doll for Phronsie; my mother said it would be a great deal more sensible present," and she hugged the long box under her arm with great satisfaction.

"O dear! dear!" groaned Alexia, falling back with Polly as the three raced along the hall, "she showed it to me in the carriage, and it's a perfect guy, besides counting one more."

But afflictions like this were small to Polly now, and although for the next hour it rained dolls into Phronsie's puzzled hands, Polly helped her to thank the givers and to dispose them safely on neighboring chairs and tables and sofas.

Mrs. Chatterton's was the pattern of old Mr. King's phonograph doll, at which discovery he turned upon her with venom in his eye.

"My gift to my little granddaughter," taking especial care to emphasize the relationship, "has always been a doll, I suppose you knew that, Cousin Eunice; and to try to procure one exactly like the one I have purchased, is very presuming in you, to say the least."

"And why may I not present a doll to Phronsie Pepper, if I care to, pray tell?" demanded Mrs. Chatterton in a high, cold tone.

"Why? because you have always showed a marked dislike for the child," cried old Mr. King angrily, "that's why, Cousin Eunice."

"Grandpapa—Grandpapa," said Phronsie, laying her hand on his arm.

"And to parade any special affection, such as the presentation of a gift indicates, is a piece of presumption on your part, I say it again, Cousin Eunice."

"Grandpapa!" said Phronsie again at his elbow.

"Now, Phronsie," turning to her, "you are to take that doll," pointing to a gorgeous affair reposing on the sofa, with Mrs. Algernon Chatterton's card attached to it, "and go over to Mrs. Chatterton, and say, very distinctly, 'I cannot accept this gift;' mind you say it distinctly, Phronsie, that there may be no mistake in the future."

"Oh, Grandpapa!" cried Phronsie in dismay.

"Yes, child; I know what is best for you. Take that doll, and do exactly as I bid you."

A dreadful pause fell upon the room. Polly clasped her hands, while Alexia and the other girls huddled into a corner saying softly, "Oh! how perfectly dreadful!"

"No use to say anything to father when he looks like that," groaned Jasper, when Polly besought him to try his influence, "his blood is up now; he's borne a good deal, you know, Polly."

"O dear, dear!" whispered Polly, back again, "just look at Mrs. Chatterton's face, and at poor Phronsie's; can't you do something, Jasper?"

"I'm afraid not," said Jasper gloomily. "No; he's making her give it back; see, Polly."

"You'll know it's for the best," Mr. King was repeating as he led the child to Mrs. Chatterton standing cold and silent at the end of the room, "sometime, child, and then you'll thank me that I saved you from further annoyance of this sort. There, Cousin Eunice, is your gift," taking the doll from Phronsie's hand, and placing it in the long, jeweled one. "My little granddaughter receives presents only from those who love her. All others are unwarranted, and must be returned."

Phronsie burst out tearfully, "She's sorry, Grandpapa, I know she is, and she loves me now. Please let me keep the doll."

But Mrs. Chatterton had left the room, the doll in her hand.



XXIV

AWAY

And after that everybody had to be as gay as possible, to keep Phronsie's sad little face from being flooded with tears.

"Dear me!" exclaimed Jasper, "here comes Candace! Now what do you suppose she has for you, Phronsie?"

Candace sailed through the doorway with ample satisfaction with everything and herself in particular.

"Whar's little Miss?" she demanded, her turban nodding in all directions, and her black eyes rolling from side to side.

"There, Candace," said some one, "over in the corner with Jasper."

"Oh! I see her," said Candace, waddling over to them. "Well, now, Phronsie, seein' you couldn't come to me for somethin' I made 'xpressly fer you, w'y, Candace has to come to you. See dat now, chile!"

She unrolled the parcel, disclosing the wonderful doll adorned with Candace's own hair, and "Ole Missus' ruffles," then stood erect, her bosom swelling with pride and delight.

"O my goodness me!" exclaimed Alexia, tumbling back after the first and only glance, and nearly overturning Cathie who was looking over her shoulder. "Polly Pepper, O dear me!" Then she sat down on the floor and laughed till she cried.

"Hush—hush!" cried Polly, running over to her, "do stop, Alexia, and get up. She'll hear you, and we wouldn't hurt her feelings for the world. Do stop, Alexia."

"O dear me!" cried Alexia gustily, and holding her sides while she waved back and forth; "if it had been—a—respectable doll, but that—horror! O dear me!"

"Stop—stop!" commanded Polly, shaking her arm.

But Alexia was beyond stopping herself. And in between Candace's delighted recital how she combed "de ha'r to take de curl out," and how "ole Missus' ruffles was made into de clothes," came the peals of laughter that finally made every one in the room stop and look at the girls.

"Candace, come into my 'den' and get a pattern for some new pins I want you to make for me," cried Jasper, desperately dragging her off.