"I wish you'd take me, Grandpapa dear," she said, holding up her arms.
"So I will—so I will, Pet!" cried old Mr. King, very much delighted; and lifting her up to rest her head on his shoulder, he walked up and down the room. "There, there, dear! Oh, why doesn't that Sarah hurry!"—when in walked that individual with a big tray, and on it everything that a hungry child could be supposed to desire. But Phronsie had no eyes for anything but the glass of milk.
"Oh, Grandpapa," she piped out at sight of it, "Sarah's got me some milk," and she gave a happy little crow.
"So she has," he laughed as gayly, "Well, now, we'll sit right down here and have some of these good things," and, Mrs. Fisher drawing up a big easy chair in front of the table where Sarah deposited the tray, he sat down, with Phronsie on his knee. "Now, child——"
"Oh, Grandpapa, may I have the milk?" she begged, holding out a trembling hand.
"Bless you, yes, child." He put the glass into her hand. "Take care,
Phronsie, don't drink so fast."
"Honey will choke herself," cried Sarah, in alarm, holding up warning black fingers. "Oh, my! she's done drunk it mos' all up a'ready."
"There, there, Phronsie!" Grandpapa took hold of the glass.
"Phronsie," said Mother Fisher, and it was her hand that took the glass away from the eager lips. "You must eat a roll now, or a little bit of toast."
"But I want some more milk," said Phronsie, and her lips quivered.