"Did I? Well, never mind, dear. Now I must tell you, you cannot have Polly to-day, Phronsie."
"But I want Polly," said Phronsie, regarding her mother with grave displeasure.
"Yes, I know, dear. But you cannot have her just to-day. Mother does not think it is best."
Phronsie's lip quivered and her brown eyes closed to squeeze the tears back. But despite all her efforts they would come, and two big ones rolled down her cheeks.
"And Mamsie will be very much disappointed in her little girl if she cries," went on Mrs. Fisher, "for Aunty Whitney needs Polly to-day. So Phronsie must be brave and let Polly stay with her."
"Is Aunty Whitney sick?" asked Phronsie, with sudden interest, her eyes flying open at once. For any one to be sick was to enlist her sympathy, and she at once gave up all thoughts of having Polly to herself.
"Yes, that is, she will be, I am afraid, if Polly does not stay with her," said Mother Fisher; "so you must be a good child, and not call for Polly."
"I will be good," said Phronsie, sliding down from her mother's lap, and folding her hands. "I will be good." She bobbed her yellow head. "And Aunty Whitney will get all well, because Polly is there."
Meanwhile the train bearing Mr. King and Ben was speeding swiftly on its way. For the first hour the old gentleman sat erect on his chair, gazing straight before him at the flying landscape, and with never a word for his companion. Then he suddenly turned with a little groan, and laid his hand on Ben's shoulder. "You are such a comfort to me," he said brokenly.
"Am I?" said Ben, all the color rushing to his face. He a comfort to Grandpapa! He hadn't gotten over wondering what had given him this honor of being allowed to go with him,—and now, to think of being a comfort!