"No, is it?" cried Grandpapa, highly gratified; and, lifting her up to a level with his face, he kissed her on both cheeks. "Now, Phronsie, I shall always keep that letter," he said, as he set her down.
"Shall you?" cried Phronsie, smoothing her gown with great satisfaction.
"Then I'm so glad I wrote it, Grandpapa."
Over by the table Jasper was saying to Polly:
"Now what shall we do with this dreadfully long evening? Do hurry and think, Polly, before everybody gets dismal again."
"Oh, I don't know," said Polly, at her wit's end.
"But we must think of something," said Jasper desperately, and fumbling the letters.
Polly's eye fell on his restless fingers.
"We might sort them out, the letters, and tie them up in little packages to take out to the post office."
"The very thing!" cried Jasper enthusiastically. "Here, all you good people"—he whirled around—"if you want to help, please sit down, and we'll get this mess of letters sorted and tied up into bundles." He waved his hands over his head, and of course everybody stopped talking at once.
"Oh, whickets!" Joel screamed; then he caught Polly's eye, and his chubby face took on a lively red. "Let me—let me!" He crammed himself in between Jasper and the table.