CHAPTER XIX.
TRYING TO BE CHEERY.
“OH, dear, dear!” King struggled manfully with his sobs, and then wailed outright; and running into Polly’s room he crouched behind the door.
Grace Tupper came after him. “King, you mustn’t,” she whispered, leaning over to pull him out.
“Let me be!” cried King, wriggling away from her; and he roared on.
“Your sister Polly will hear you,” cried Grace desperately.
“She can’t; she’s got comp’ny,” sobbed King in a fresh burst. “I wa—want Phronsie, I do!”
“So we all want her,” said Grace with set teeth; “but, O King! don’t cry, dear. There, there, I’m sorry for you.” She smoothed his stubby head with a kind hand, wishing she could say something to comfort.
“Who’ll he—hear my lessons?” blubbered King, who never had been known to worry over them before; “and if I don’t say ’em, Mamsie won’t tell me I’ve been a good boy. Oh, dear!”
“Now, there is something I can do,” cried Grace joyfully, “I can hear those lessons, King; and just as soon as Mrs. King’s company has gone, I mean to ask her if I mayn’t.”
“I don’t want you,” said King, with one eye on her, the other obscured by his arm, and feeling dreadfully sorry that he had mentioned lessons anyway.