“So you are,” said the old gentleman, setting up a toilet bottle that he had knocked over, “so you are; I didn't think you'd go and tumble over, Polly, I really didn't,” and he beamed admiringly down on her.
And then Polly crept away to Mrs. Whitney's side where she threw herself down on the floor, to watch the little sleeping figure. Her hand was gathered up, into the kind one that held Phronsie's; and there they watched and watched and waited.
“Oh, dear,” said Phronsie, suddenly, turning over with a little sigh, and bobbing up her head to look at Polly; “I'm so hungry! I haven't had anything to eat in ever an' ever so long, Polly!” and she gazed at her with a very injured countenance.
“So you must be,” said Mrs. Whitney, kissing the flushed little face. “Polly must ring the bell for Jane to bring this little bird some crumbs.
“Can I have a great many?” asked Phronsie, lifting her eyes, with the dewy look of sleep still lingering in them, “as many as two birdies?”
“Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Whitney, laughing; “I think as many as three little birdies could eat, Phronsie.”
“Oh,” said Phronsie, and leaned back satisfied, while Polly gave the order, which was presently followed by Jane with a well-filled tray.
“Now,” said Jappy, when he heard the account of the adventure, “I say that letter ought to go to your mother, Polly.”
“Oh,” said Polly, “it would scare mamsie most to death, Jappy!”
“Don't tell her the whole,” said Jasper, quickly, “I didn't mean that—about the horses and all that—but only enough to let her see how Phronsie tried to get it to her.”