"Do let
me; I want to."
"No, I can do it myself," said Polly, trying to whirl off from the busy
little fingers.
"Polly," began Mother Fisher, who saw what Polly couldn't, Phronsie's
little face very red with her exertion, and the brown eyes filling with
tears.
"Well, I declare," cried Polly, at sound of her mother's tone; "so you
shall, Phronsie. Now I'll stand just as still as a mouse, and you shall
make that old button fly into its hole."
"So he shall, old button fly into his hole," laughed Phronsie through
her tears. And presently she declared it was done. And with a final
pat, this time from Mother Fisher's fingers, Polly was released, and
the rest of the dressing was soon done.
And there, waiting at the end of their corridor, was Jasper, in every
conceivable way trying to get the better of his impatience. When he did
finally see Polly, he dashed up to her. "Well, are you really here?"
"Yes," cried Polly, scampering on, with Phronsie clinging to her hand,
"I really believe I am, Jasper. But don't let's go faster than Mamsie,"
looking back for her.
"You all run on," said Mother Fisher, laughing, "I shall get there
soon; and really, Mr. King has waited long enough," she added to
herself.
And, indeed, Mr. King thought so too, and he couldn't control his
delight when the three danced into the little private parlour, opening
out from his bedroom, and came up to his side.
Pages:
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122