Footsteps rapid and light were heard on the stairs. Polly and Jasper flew away from the doorway to let Dr. Pennell, his little case in his hand, come in.
“Well, well!” he exclaimed cheerily, “so now it's Phronsie; I'm coming to her this time,” for he had often dropped in to call or to dine since the railway accident.
“Yes,” said Phronsie, with a little laugh of delight, for she very much liked Dr. Pennell. He always took her on his lap, and told her stories; and he had a way of tucking certain little articles in his pockets to have her hunt for them. So they had gotten on amazingly well.
“Why, where—” Phronsie began in a puzzled way.
“Is Dr. Fisher?” Dr. Pennell finished it for her, rapidly going on with his work. “Well, he'll be here soon, I think. And you know he always likes me to do things when he isn't on hand. So I've come.”
“And I like you very much,” said Phronsie, wriggling her toes in satisfaction.
“I know that; we are famous friends, Phronsie,” said the doctor, with one of those pleasant smiles of his that showed his white teeth.
“What's famous?” asked Phronsie, keeping her grave eyes on his face.
“Oh, fine; it means first-rate. We are fine friends, aren't we, Phronsie?”
“Yes, we are,” declared Phronsie, bending forward to see his work the better, and taking her eyes from his face.