“Yes,” she said, at last, “it was down here, I'm very sure, I went with grandpa,” and immediately turned down the wrong way, and went on and on, grasping carefully her small, and by this time rather soiled bit of paper.
At last she reached the business streets; and although she didn't come to the Post Office, she comforted herself by the thought—“it must be coming soon. I guess it's round this corner.”
She kept turning corner after corner, until, at last, a little anxious feeling began to tug at her heart; and she began to think—“I wish I could see Polly—” And now, she had all she could do to get out of the way of the crowds of people who were pouring up and down the thoroughfare. Everybody jostled against her, and gave her a push. “Oh dear!” thought Phronsie, “there's such a many big people!” and then there was no time for anything else but to stumble in and out, to keep from being crushed completely beneath their feet. At last, an old huckster woman, in passing along, knocked off her bonnet with the end of her big basket, which flew around and struck Phronsie's head. Not stopping to look into the piteous brown eyes, she strode on without a word. Phronsie turned in perfect despair to go down a street that looked as if there might be room enough for her in it. Thoroughly frightened, she plunged over the crossing, to reach it!
“Look out!” cried a ringing voice. “Stop!”
“The little girl'll be killed!” said others with bated breath, as a powerful pair of horses whose driver could not pull them up in time, dashed along just in front of her! With one cry, Phronsie sprang between their feet, and reached the opposite curbstone in safety!
The plunge brought her up against a knot of gentlemen who were standing talking on the corner.
“What's this!” asked one, whose back being next to the street, hadn't seen the commotion, as the small object dashed into their midst, and fell up against him.
“Didn't you see that narrow escape?” asked a second, whose face had paled in witnessing it. “This little girl was nearly killed a moment ago—careless driving enough!” And he put out his hand to catch the child.
“Bless me!” cried a third, whirling around suddenly, “Bless me! you don't say so! why—” With a small cry, but gladsome and distinct in its utterance, Phronsie gave one look—“Oh, grandpa!” was all she could say.
“Oh! where—” Mr. King couldn't possibly have uttered another word, for then his breath gave out entirely, as he caught the small figure.