“What’s the matter, darling?”
“Can’t I go over to Mrs. Butler’s for luncheon?” she complained. “They’re going to have chicken.”
“So are we,” said he, pointing to the eggs.
“I want to go,” said Phoebe, stubbornly.
He coloured. “Don’t you want to stay home and eat what daddy has cooked?” he asked, rather plaintively.
“I want to go.”
He could only resort to bribery. “And daddy’ll take you down to see the nickel show as soon as we’ve finished,” he offered. The child’s face brightened.
Here Annie interposed.
“She can’t go to see them nickel shows; Miss Duluth won’t stand for it. She’s give me strict orders.”
“I’ll take good care of her––” began Phoebe’s father.