"Look at Polly's cheeks!" cried Amy.
"You've been a white little minx so long," said Alexia, putting a fond arm around Polly; "I went home and cried every day, after I would steal around the back way to see how Phronsie was"—
"Won't Phronsie be downstairs soon?" asked Amy.
"I don't know," said Polly. "Papa-Doctor is going to be dreadfully careful of her, that she doesn't get up too soon."
"Say, Polly," cried another girl, "don't you have to take a lot of pills and stuff, now that Dr. Fisher is your father?"
Polly threw back her head and laughed merrily. It sounded so strangely to her to hear the sound echoing through the room so long silent, that she stopped suddenly.
"Oh, girls! I can't hardly believe even yet that Phronsie is almost well," she cried.
"Well, you'd better," advised Alexia philosophically, "because she is, you know. Do laugh again, Polly; it's good to hear you."
"I can't help it," said Polly, "Cathie asked such a funny question."
"Cathie's generally a goose," said Alexia coolly.