"Don't do it. Stay where you are," said Dr. Fisher, stopping him half-way across the room.
"But Phronsie wants me; she said so," exclaimed old Mr. King hoarsely, and trying to push his way past the doctor. "Why, man, don't stop me."
Dr. Fisher planted his small body firmly in front of the old gentleman.
"You must obey me."
Obey? When had Mr. King heard that word addressed to himself. He drew a long breath, looked full into the spectacled eyes, then said, "All right, Fisher; I suppose you know best," and went back to his arm-chair.
"I'm so tired, Polly," Phronsie was saying, and the arms, Polly could feel, were dropping slowly from her neck.
"Are you, Pet? Well, now, I'll tell you what we'll do. Let us both go to sleep. There, Phronsie, now you put your arms down, so"—Polly gave them a swift little tuck under the bed-clothes—"and I'll get up beside you, so"—and she crept on to the bed—"and we'll both go right to 'nid-nid-nodland,' don't you know?"
"You're sure you won't let me go?" whispered Phronsie, cuddling close, and feeling for Polly's neck again.
"Oh! just as sure as I can be," declared Polly cheerfully, while the tears rained down her cheek in the darkness.
"I feel something wet," said Phronsie, drawing back one hand. "What is it, Polly?"
"Oh! that," said Polly with a start. "Oh—well, it's—well, I'm crying, Phronsie; but I'm so glad—oh! you don't know how glad I am, sweet," and she leaned over and kissed her.