"Oh, Polly Pepper!" cried the others, "a bushel of letters!"
"And no one can have a letter who doesn't write some," announced Polly firmly—"the very idea! So we must all work like everything to get ready for the post office."
III
CLEM FORSYTHE
Phronsie sat on the stairs, halfway down the long flight. It was the same staircase on which Jasper had found her, with Polly waiting patiently on the lower step, when she first came to Grandpapa King's. Now she held Clorinda in her arms, tightly pressed to her bosom.
"I do wish," she said softly, "that I could see my poor little girl, I do."
Clorinda not replying, Phronsie smoothed down the pink gown.
"It wasn't very nice at that little girl's house"—and a troubled expression swept over her face—"but the little girl was nice, and she hadn't any child."
Clorinda's countenance expressed no sorrow, but stared up at her mother unblinkingly. Phronsie bent over and dropped a kiss on the red lips.
"Maybe she'll come again some day, if I watch by the big gate."