Phronsie at this drew nearer and stole her hand into his.
"Now what is to be done about it?" asked the old gentleman, putting his other broad palm over her little one and holding it fast. "Hey, my pet?"
"Can't we buy them some children?" asked Phronsie with warm interest.
"Oh, Grandpapa dear, do let us; I have money in my bank."
"Phronsie," said the old gentleman, going to the heart of the matter at once and lifting her to his lap, "I really think the time has come to give away some of your dolls. I really do, child."
Phronsie gave a start of incredulity and peered around at him.
"I really do. You are going abroad to be gone—well, we'll say a year. And your dolls would be so lonely without anything to do but to sit all day and think of their little mother. And there are so many children who would love them and make them happy." Now Mr. King's white hair was very near the yellow waves floating over his shoulder, so that none but Phronsie's ears caught the next words. "It's right, Phronsie dear; I'd do it if I were you," he said in a low voice.
"Do you want it, Grandpapa?" asked Phronsie softly.
"I do, child; but not unless you are willing"—
"Then I do," declared Phronsie, sitting quite straight on his knee. And she gave a relieved sigh. "Oh, Grandpapa, if we only had the poor children now!" she exclaimed, dreadfully excited.
"Come, then." Old Mr. King set her on her feet. "Clear the way there, good people; we are going to find some poor children who are waiting for dolls," and he threw wide the door into a back passage, and there, presided over by Jencks, and crowding for the first entrance, was a score of children with outstretched hands.