"Oh, Mamsie!" breathed Polly, hanging to the dear hand, "I am so glad you came, and took me away."
"Polly," said Mother Fisher, suddenly, "Grandpapa asked me to find you; he thinks you could cheer old Mr. Selwyn up a bit, perhaps, with backgammon. I'm afraid Tom has been behaving badly again."
"Oh, Mamsie!" exclaimed Polly, in dismay. And then the story came out.
"Grandpapa," said Phronsie, pulling at his hand gently, as they walked slowly up and down the deck, "does your head ache?" And she peered anxiously up into his face.
"No, child—that is, not much," said old Mr. King, trying to smooth his brows out. He was thinking—for it kept obtruding at all times and seasons—of that dreadful scrap of paper that Cousin Eunice had imposed upon him at the last minute before they sailed, announcing that she had had her way, and would at last compel acceptance of such a gift as she chose to make to Phronsie Pepper.
"If it aches at all," said Phronsie, decidedly, "I wish you would let me rub it for you, Grandpapa. I do, truly."
"Well, it doesn't," said Grandpapa; "that is it won't, now that I have you with me. I was thinking of something unpleasant, Phronsie, and then, to tell you the truth, that old Mr. Selwyn tires me to death. I can't talk to him, and his grandson is a cad."
"What is a cad?" asked Phronsie, wonderingly.
"Oh, well, a boy who isn't nice," said Mr. King, carelessly.
"Grandpapa, why isn't that boy nice to that poor old man?" asked
Phronsie, a grieved look coming into her blue eyes.