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Updated: June 15, 2025
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'll wake Mamsie." Phronsie's little lips quivered. In the darkness Polly couldn't see the small face and its sorrowful eyes, so she turned over again on her pillow. "Go to sleep, like a good girl," she said, almost asleep. "I can't, Polly," said Phronsie, almost ready to cry out, "and I am truly thirsty. Please, Polly, a drink of water."
At last Joel said, "Ow!" and began to complain that he was all scratched up by the prickly bushes, and when Phronsie heard that, she set down her tin cup and held up her fat little arms. "See, Polly," she said gravely. "O dear me, now that's too bad, Pet!" So Polly had to come out from her nice little clump where she was picking fast, and kiss the little red marks on Phronsie's arms.
And Joel ran hither and thither, dragging the chairs, and Phronsie's little cricket, and everything movable into place as well as he could with one hand. "Take care, Joe," warned Polly, wondering if she hadn't done wrong in proposing stagecoach, "don't fly round so. You'll hurt your hand. I'd get up on the front seat if I were you, and begin to drive."
She had made them, with the greatest trouble, out of thin paper and some old wire, and for fear they would get broken in the woodshed, Mamsie had said she might put them in the lower drawer of the big bureau in the bedroom, where Phronsie's red-topped shoes were always kept wrapped up. So now Polly dashed suddenly into the kitchen to run after them.
"No, he didn't bite me," said Polly; "but his mother put a bug in his mouth just as I'm doing you know," and she broke off a small piece of the toast, put on a generous bit of butter, and held it over Phronsie's mouth. "Did he swallow it?" asked the child, obediently opening her little red lips.
At any rate, Phronsie's clean as a pink," she thought to herself looking at the little maiden, busy with "baby" to whom she was teaching deportment in the corner. But there was no time to "fix up;" for a tall, portly gentleman, leaning on his heavy gold cane, was walking up from the little brown gate to the big flat-stone that served as a step. Jasper and Prince followed decorously.
"Is there, Pet?" cried Polly, throwing down her shovel, "then we must all go and see him. Come, Jasper, and all of you," and she seized Phronsie's hand. "He is very dreadful big," said Phronsie, as they sped on, Jasper and the other players close behind. "And he puffed, Polly, and the water went up, oh, so high!" "That's because he came up to breathe," said Polly, as they raced along.
"Let's all write," said Polly. So a space on the table was cleared, and the children gathered around it, when there was great scratching of pens, and clearing of ideas; which presently resulted in a respectable budget of letters, into which Phronsie's was lovingly tucked in the centre; and then they all filed out to put it into the letterbox in the hall, for Thomas to mail with the rest in the morning.
"What are you here for?" he cried savagely. "You don't love her. You would better get out of the way." And no one thought to reprove him. Polly was clinging to the post at the foot of the stairs. "I shall die if Phronsie is dead," she said. Then she looked at Mother Fisher, waiting for her baby. "Give her to me!" said Phronsie's mother, holding out imperative arms.
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