“Her eyes are just the same as Polly's,” thought Jasper, “just such laughing ones, only Polly's are brown,” and he liked her on the spot.
And then, somehow, the hubbub ceased. Polly went on with her work, and the others separated, and Mrs. Pepper and Jasper had a long talk. When the mother's eyes fell on Phronsie playing around on the floor, she gave the boy a grateful smile that he thought was beautiful.
“Well, I declare,” said Jasper, at last, looking up at the old clock in the corner by the side of the cupboard, “I'm afraid I'll miss the stage, and then father never'll let me come again. Come, Prince.”
“Oh, don't go,” cried Phronsie, wailing. “Let doggie stay! Oh, make him stay, mammy!”
“I can't, Phronsie,” said Mrs. Pepper, smiling, “if he thinks he ought to go.”
“I'll come again,” said Jasper, eagerly, “if I may, ma'am.”
He looked up at Mrs. Pepper as he stood cap in hand, waiting for the answer.
“I'm sure we should be glad if your father'll be willing,” she added; thinking, proudly, “My children are an honor to anybody, I'm sure,” as she glanced around on the bright little group she could call her own. “But be sure, Jasper,” and she laid her hand on his arm as she looked down into his eyes, “that you father is willing, that's all.”
“Oh, yes, ma'am,” said the boy; “but he will be, I guess, if he feels well.”
“Then come on Thursday,” said Polly; “and can't we bake something then, mammy?”