"She's my nice little girl, and I like her," Phronsie was saying. "Yes, I do, very much indeed, Grandpapa."
"You do?"
"Yes, and I want her to stay here, Grandpapa. Please, may she?"
"Oh, dear!"
"Please, Grandpapa dear." Phronsie put up one hand and tucked it softly under his chin. He seized it and covered it with kisses.
"Oh, my lamb—that wicked, careless Joanna!"
"What's the matter, Grandpapa?" Phronsie brought up her head to look at him with troubled eyes.
"Nothing—nothing, child; there, cuddle down again. Your mother is talking to the little girl, and she will fix up things. Oh, bless me!"
"Mamsie will fix up things, won't she, Grandpapa?" cooed Phronsie, wriggling her toes happily.
"Yes, dear."