“O Grandpapa—just one little minute—I wouldn’t have let him stay long. Couldn’t you have sent him over here just for one minute?”
“Nonsense! You’re so tender of his feelings, it would only have been hard for you. No, I thank my stars, Phronsie, I saved you from all this trouble. What you would do, child, if it were not for your old Granddaddy, I’m sure I don’t know. Well, he’s gone, and I told him never to come back again with that errand in view; and I only hope to goodness it’s the last time I shall be so worried by him.”
“There, we’ve got the hair all in,” announced King triumphantly, rushing up, followed by the other two, Barby wiping her grimy little hands in great satisfaction over her white apron. “Now please say we’ve been good boys, and”—
“And a good girl,” chimed in Barby, flying after with red cheeks.
“And sew up the old cushion,” begged Elyot. This would be almost as good fun as the pulling it open had been, to see Phronsie sewing it tight, and she could tell them stories meanwhile.
“Let the cushion wait,” began Mr. King.
“But, Grandpapa, the hair may get spilled out again,” said Phronsie gently, and getting off from his knee. “I really think I ought to do it now, Grandpapa dear.”
“Yes—yes,” cried all the children, hopping up and down; “do it now—do it now, Phronsie.”
So Phronsie found her thimble and scissors once more, and got out the coarse brown thread from her little sewing-bag, and sewed the big seam in the old calico cushion fast again, the children taking turns in poking the wisps of hair in the crevice.
“Now tell all what you used to do when you lived here—just here,” demanded Elyot, patting the old floor with his hand, “every single thing, Phronsie;” for the children, except on rare occasions, never called her “Aunt.” “Don’t leave out anything you did in the little brown house. Now begin.”