“And because Joel ran off and forgot to fill the box,” said little Doctor Fisher, gayly, “is that any reason, I should like to know, why I can’t have the fun of splitting up a few sticks? Well, Phronsie—” and he whirled around to her; “don’t you want to know where I got that little white cat for you, before I go, hey?”
“She’s my little white cat,” declared Phronsie, too excited to think of anything except that the kitten was really hers.
“Yes, I know,” Doctor Fisher nodded at her; “well, now, I’m going to tell you how I got her. Polly, you come over and hear it, too.”
So Polly obediently went over. “Oh, you’ve been so good, dear Doctor Fisher; you’ve saved my eyes, and given me my stove, and now you’ve brought Phronsie a little white cat.” Polly clasped her hands tightly together. Oh, if she could only do something for him!
“Well, now, let’s hear how I got that little white cat,” said Doctor Fisher, briskly. He never could bear to be thanked, but he was very much gratified, all the same, at Polly’s words. “You couldn’t guess, children,” he cried, with great animation.
“Phronsie,” said Polly, “he’s going to tell how he got your little white cat.”
At that Phronsie was greatly excited, and she piped out, “Oh, tell me!”
“Why, I didn’t get her at all,” said Doctor Fisher.
“You didn’t get her at all—” repeated Polly, in amazement.
“No,” the little doctor burst into a laugh at her face; “that is, I didn’t go after her. She came to me.”