“No, I didn’t,” sobbed Grace; “I hopped on the other foot. Oh, dear, dear!”
“Please go out,” begged Phronsie. When the door was closed she put her hand on the hot brow. “Grace,” she said, “I am disappointed in you.”
“I heard what she said,” cried Grace in a gust, and throwing both arms suddenly around Phronsie. “O Miss Pepper, just get me to Aunt’s—do! I’ll make her let me go home. And I never’ll trouble any one any more.”
“You can’t be moved yet,” said Phronsie; “and it remains with you to say whether or no you will be a good girl, Grace, and be a comfort to us.” Grace could take but one look at her face, it was such a disapproving one, and she disappeared as far as she could beneath the bedclothes. “I heard what she said,” she reiterated faintly.
“Ah, Grace,” said Phronsie sadly, “when we have done wrongly, we must just make up our minds to bear what people say.”
Alexia knocked timidly at the door. “Come in,” called Phronsie.
“I’m awfully sorry you heard what I said,” she mumbled, going up to the foot of the bed, “everybody don’t know it—only a few people, I guess. And anyway, I suppose Polly, Mrs. King, will fix it up, and I’m real sorry for you, and I’ll help you—oh, dear me!”
Phronsie looked at her gratefully. “Alexia, will you tell her about your baby,” she asked suddenly.
“Oh, that blessed child!” began Alexia in delight; “yes, indeed, that is, if you’ll take your head out of those bedclothes. I never could talk to any one unless I could see at least their nose. Well, now, that’s something like. You know, Miss—Miss”—
“My name is Grace Tupper,” said Grace, who had pulled up a very red face to lay it against the pillow.