Old Mr. King, not comprehending, had turned sharply in his chair to stare at them.
“Hush, boys,” warned Polly, hoarsely pointing to him; “is Mamsie with her?” She didn't dare to speak Phronsie's name.
“Yes,” said Van, eager to communicate all the news, and hoping Percy would not cut in. But Percy, after Polly's warning, had stood quite still, afraid to open his mouth.
Jasper was hunting in one of his drawers for an old book his father had wished to see. So of course he hadn't heard a word.
“Here it is, father,” he cried, rushing back and whirling the leaves—“why, what?” for he saw Polly's face.
“Oh Jasper—don't,” said Polly brokenly.
“Why do you boys rush in, in this manner?” demanded old Mr. King testily. “And, Polly, child, what is the matter?”
“Grandpapa,” cried Polly, rushing over to him to put her arms around his neck, “Phronsie is hurt someway. I don't believe it is much,” she gasped, while Jasper ran to his other side.
“Phronsie hurt!” cried old Mr. King in sharp distress. “Where is she?”
Then Percy, seeing it was considered time for communication of news, struck in boldly; and between the two, all that was known of Joel's wild exclamations was put before them. All this was told along the hall and going over the stairs; for Grandpapa, holding Polly's hand, with Jasper hurrying fast behind them, was making good time up to Ben's room.