"Oh, see what she's written!" cried Polly, quite aghast, and tumbling into her chair, she pointed at the top.
"Deer Mister Erl," scrawled clear across the top.
"I didn't—mean—oh, you said do it, Polly." Phronsie threw herself out of her chair, and over into Polly's lap, burrowing and wailing piteously.
"O dear me, how could I say anything?" cried Polly, overcome with remorse and patting Phronsie's yellow hair; "but it is so very dreadful. O dear me! Phronsie, there, there, don't cry. O dear me!"
Tom's mouth trembled. "It's all right. Granddaddy'll like it," he said.
"Oh, Tom Selwyn," gasped Polly, looking up over Phronsie's head, "you don't suppose we'd let that letter go."
"I would," said Tom, coolly, running his hands in his pockets. "I tell you, you don't know my granddaddy. He's got lots of fun in him," he added.
"Phronsie," said Jasper, rushing around the table, "you are making
Polly sick. Just look at her face."
Phronsie lifted her head where she had burrowed it under Polly's arm. When she saw that Polly's round cheeks were really quite pale, she stopped crying at once. "Are you sick, Polly?" she asked, in great concern.
"I sha'n't be," said Polly, "if you won't cry any more, Phronsie."