"Bless me! you couldn't keep them on," said Mr. King.
"Don't the little Dutch children keep them on?" asked Phronsie. "Oh, Grandpapa, I think I could; I really think I could," she added earnestly.
"Yes, they do, because they are born and brought up to it, although, for the life of me, I don't see how they do it; but you couldn't, child, you'd fall the first minute and break your nose, most likely."
Phronsie gave a sigh. "Should I, Grandpapa?"
"Yes, quite likely; but I'll tell you what I will do. I will buy you a pair, and we will take them home. That will be fine, won't it, dear?"
"Yes," said Phronsie, wriggling in delight. Then she sat quite still.
"Grandpapa," she said, reaching up to whisper again, "I'm afraid it will make Araminta feel badly to see me with my beautiful wooden shoes on, when she can't have any. Do you suppose there are little teenty ones, Grandpapa dear, and I might get her a pair?"
"Yes, indeed," cried Grandpapa, nodding his white head in delight, "there are shoals of them, Phronsie, of all sizes."
"What are shoals?" queried Phronsie.
"Oh, numbers and numbers—so many we can't count them," answered Mr.
King, recklessly.