"Oh, don't go back to him," she implored. "Do stay with us girls, we're all your Sunday-school class—that is, most of us. Please stay with us, Miss Mary."
Miss Mary cast an imploring glance over at the gentleman, which he seemed to see, although apparently he wasn't looking.
"Phronsie, you and I will have to move over, I think"; for by this time he had her in his lap; and so he bundled her across the room unceremoniously.
"Oh, I've lost my needle!" cried Phronsie, peering out from his arms in great distress.
"Dear me!" exclaimed Mr. Dyce; so he set her down and dropped to all-fours to peer about for the shining little implement, Phronsie getting down on her knees to assist the search.
Alexia, seeing the trouble, deserted her knitting, and flew out of her chair to help look for it.
"You little tyrant!" exclaimed Mr. Dyce, as she added herself to the group, "to call Miss Mary over there! I should think it was quite bad enough to have you Sundays, Alexia."
"Miss Mary thinks a great deal of me," said Alexia composedly. "Dear me, what a plaguey little thing that needle is! Never mind, Phronsie, don't feel badly. I guess—oh, here it is, and sticking straight up."
"And all this would never have happened but for your calling Miss Mary away," observed Mr. Dyce, getting up straight again. "What a little nuisance you are, Alexia!" All of which she had heard from him so many times before that it failed to disturb her, so she went back to her seat in high spirits, Phronsie hopping over like a small rabbit to a little cricket at Polly's feet. At this there was a bustle among the girls.
"Sit next to me, Miss Mary," begged Silvia Horne, sweeping a chair clear.