Phronsie gave a sigh, and went patiently on with her work. “Yes, Alexia, I'm tired sometimes; but I'm their mother, you see.”
“And to comb their hair!” went on Alexia, “Oh dear me! I never could do it in all this world, Phronsie. I should want to run and throw them all out of the window.”
“Oh Alexia!” exclaimed Phronsie in horror, “throw them all out of the window! You couldn't do that, Alexia.” She tightened her grasp on the doll in her arms.
“Yes, I should want to throw every one of those dreadful dolls out of the window, Phronsie Pepper!” declared Alexia recklessly.
“But they are my children,” said Phronsie very soberly, trying to get all the others waiting for their hair to be fixed, into her arms too, “and dear Grandpapa gave them to me, and I love them, every single one.”
“Well, now, you see, Phronsie,” said Alexia, getting down on the floor in front of the doll's bureau, by Phronsie's side, “you could come out with me on the piazza and walk around a bit if it were not for these dreadfully tiresome dolls; and Polly is at school, and you are through with your lessons in Mr. King's room. Now how nice that would be, oh dear me!” Alexia gave a restful stretch to her long figure. “My!” at a twinge of pain.
“Does your arm hurt you, Alexia?” asked Phronsie, looking over her dolls up to Alexia's face.
“Um—maybe,” said Alexia, nursing her arm hanging in the sling; “it's a bad, horrid old thing, and I'd like to thump it.”
“Oh, don't, Alexia,” begged Phronsie, “that will make it worse. Please don't, Alexia, do anything to it.” Then she got up, and went over with her armful of dolls to the sofa, and laid them down carefully in a row. “I'll fix your hair to-morrow, children,” she said; “now I'm going away for a little bit of a minute,” and came back. “Let's go down to the piazza,” she said, holding out her hand.
“You blessed child, you!” exclaimed Alexia, seizing her with the well hand, “did you suppose I'd be such a selfish old pig as to drag you off from those children of yours?”