Phronsie, feeling very important that she was to take care of David and keep him from being sick, now clamored for him to get on Mamsie’s bed, and let her tuck him up. And nothing would do but that she should take his hand and lead him off to the bedroom.
Grandma chuckled to see them go. It presently became so still in the old kitchen that she dozed in her chair, waking up with a start.
“I declare ef I haven’t lost myself jest for a minute,” she said. “Now I’ll see how them blessed childern is gettin’ along.”
She opened the bedroom door softly and peeped in. Davie, with the patchwork quilt drawn up to his chin just as Phronsie had tucked him in, and with one arm thrown over his head, was sleeping as he hadn’t been able to do since Polly went away. And Phronsie, curled up on the floor, her yellow head on the old braided rug, was dreaming that she was watching Davie and keeping him from getting sick.
Ben and Joel found them so, when they came home from Deacon Blodgett’s where they had been piling wood. Joel rushed past Grandma Bascom like a whirlwind. “Sh!” she said, raising her hand. Too late! Into the bedroom flew Joel waving something over his head. “Hoh! in bed!” he cried. “Get up, Dave!”
“Look out!” cried Ben, “you almost stepped on Phronsie!” and he picked her up, as Joel jumped on the bed.
“It’s for you,” he cried, shaking the arm thrown over Davie’s head. Then the old patchwork quilt was twitched down, and something white was thrust in its place.
“What is it?” asked Davie, his blue eyes dewy with sleep, and he rolled over to show very pink cheeks.
“A letter from Polly,” cried Joel, waving it impatiently.
Davie flew up to sit in the middle of the bed. “Oh!” he cried hungrily, “a letter from Polly!”