“Polly’s going to tell us a story about robbers, and she’s got bags, and just everything,” he screamed excitedly.
“Hoity-toity, Dick,” exclaimed old Mr. King, whose plans for the day had all been set aside by the rain. “You must look where you are going, child, and not run into people so,” as little Dick stumbled up against him.
“But she is, Grandpapa; she really and truly is,” cried Dick positively.
“Who is? And going to do what?” demanded Mr. King.
“Polly; and she’s going to tell us a perfectly splendid story.” And then away Dick dashed back to the library again.
“In that case,” observed the old gentleman to himself, “I might as well add myself to the youngsters; and Phronsie will probably be there.” So as he had been waiting till Polly should be through with her music lesson, for Phronsie always sat patiently with one of her numerous dolls, in the long drawing-room, on these occasions, he marched to the scene of the hilarity over the story, which was now fairly launched.
“And so you see,” Polly was saying, as he opened the door. “Oh, boys, here comes dear Grandpapa!”
All the boys were on their feet in an instant to get old Mr. King the best chair in the room, an attention which pleased him immensely; and he was soon seated in their circle, Joel planting himself down on the floor at his feet. Phronsie looked over from Polly’s lap, where she was snuggling. “Does your head ache, Grandpapa?” she asked gently.
“It feels as if it were going to, all the while, Phronsie,” said the old gentleman artfully.
Phronsie put up one little hand and patted Polly’s cheek. “I must go and sit with Grandpapa, Polly,” she whispered, “and keep him from being sick.” And she got down, and hurried over to climb in his lap. “Now I guess it won’t ache, Grandpapa, dear,” she said, smoothing his white hair gently.