"
"I'll help Polly to find it," cried Phronsie, now thoroughly awake and
dropping her small skirts to get down on the floor by Mrs. Henderson's
side. "Don't feel badly, Polly; I'll find your stocking for you."
"No, Phronsie," said her mother, "you must get into your own clothes.
And then Mrs. Henderson is nearly all ready, and you can go out with
her, and that will leave more room, so that Polly and I can search more
carefully. And the stocking has got to come, for it couldn't walk off
of itself," she added cheerily as she saw Polly's face. "Why--what?" as
she happened to look upward. And then Polly looked, too, and there was
her stocking dangling from the very high hook where the big hat had
been.
"You tossed it up there, I suppose, when you shook up the bedclothes so
quickly," said Mrs. Fisher. "Well, now," as Polly pounced on the
stocking, "see how fast you can hop into your clothes, daughter." Then
she began to put the things for the bags into their places, and
Matilda, coming in, finished the work; and Polly flew around, buttoning
and tying and patting herself into shape, and by the time that little
Dr. Fisher's voice called at the door, "Well, wife, are you ready?"
there they all were, trim and tidy as ever for a start.
"Where is it, Grandpapa?" asked Phronsie, peering around on either
side,--Dr. Fisher and Jasper had gone off to attend to the examination
of the luggage by the customs inspectors,--and then coming up gently to
pull his arm.
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