Phronsie came at once, with wide-open, astonished brown eyes, and climbed up into the good lap obediently.
"Phronsie," said Mrs. Fisher, swallowing the lump in her throat, and looking at the child fixedly, "you know Helen has been very sick."
"Yes, mamma," said Phronsie, still in a wonder.
"Well—and she suffered, dear, oh, so much!"
A look of pain stole over Phronsie's face, and Mrs. Fisher hastened to say, "But oh. Phronsie, she can't ever suffer any more, for—for—God has taken her home, Phronsie."
"Has Helen died?" asked Phronsie, in a sharp little voice, so unlike her own that Mrs. Pepper shivered and held her close.
"Oh, darling—how can I tell you? Yes, dear, God has taken her home to
Heaven."
"And left Mrs. Fargo without any little girl?" asked Phronsie, in the same tone.
"My dear—yes—He knows what is best," said poor Mrs. Fisher.
The startled look on Phronsie's little face gave way to a grieved expression, that slowly settled on each feature.