“And if you are a good girl,” said the little doctor, opening the door and looking back at Phronsie, “why, then the little white cat shall stay with you always.”
“The little white cat shall stay with me always,—he said so,” declared Phronsie, trying to keep up with Polly’s flying steps.
“Yes; isn’t he good to bring you that dear sweet kitty!” exclaimed Polly, seizing it to give it a good hug, whereat the small fluffy ball said “Fuff—siss!” again very loudly.
“O dear me!” exclaimed Polly, drawing back; “I didn’t hurt you, you funny little thing, you; you needn’t scream at me so.”
“She’s only talking, Polly,” said Phronsie, anxiously watching Polly’s face.
“Talking?” said Polly, with a little laugh; “well, never mind, I guess she won’t hurt me, Pet.”
“She won’t hurt you, Polly,” said Phronsie, shaking her yellow hair positively; “I won’t let her.”
“And did you ever see such a nice place as this!” said Polly, glancing approvingly around the old kitchen and over to the stove where little winks of the bright fire could be seen, and the wood was crackling away as hard as it could. “Phronsie, I don’t believe ever anybody had such a dear Little Brown House as this is—ever in all this world!”
“It’s my Little Brown House,” said Phronsie, coming to a sudden stop and looking all about her very intently, “and I shall live here forever.”
“Well, come on,” said Polly, every nerve tingling for another spin, she was just beginning to feel so nice and warm and cosey, and holding out her hands. So Phronsie, although she would have preferred to sit quietly and play with her new treasure, hugged it up tighter to her little bosom and let Polly dance her about to her heart’s desire, the little white cat spitting and mewing her discontent, until the two children, tired out, sat down, flushed and panting, to rest.