“That is precisely the reason,” said Mother Fisher, “why I wouldn’t let you be told, Charlotte.”
“Where’s Charlotte?” asked Phronsie, hearing some one call her name in Mamsie’s room.
“You needn’t see her, dear; Charlotte will wait. Do, Phronsie, try and get some rest,” said Polly.
Phronsie, in her soft white wrapper on the sofa, got up and went to the door. “Is she in Mamsie’s room?” she asked.
“I’ll call her,” said Polly, “if you’ll only let me tuck you up on the sofa again, Phronsie.”
“Yes, I will, Polly,” said Phronsie, obediently going back, “if you will only call Charlotte in.”
So Polly tucked her up, and then ran into Mother Fisher’s room. “Charlotte, you’re to come,” she said, picking her by the sleeve.
“Oh, I can’t!” cried Charlotte, edging off toward Mother Fisher.
“But you must,” said Polly imperatively, “for Phronsie has sent for you.”
“Charlotte,” said Mrs. Fisher, with a smile at the tall girl, “I’ll trust you.”