"--want one of those dear sweet little cheeses?" finished Phronsie.
"Yes, indeed," answered Polly, bobbing her head, and listening to the
man with all her might.
"Yes, she does, Grandpapa," declared Phronsie, flying back, "she told
me so her very own self."
"The goodness, she does!" exclaimed old Mr. King, "Well then, she shall
have one. But pick out a small one, Phronsie, the very smallest you can
find."
This was so much a work of time, Phronsie laying aside one selection
after another, each yellow cheese looking so much better on comparison,
that at last old Mr. King was almost in despair, and counselled the
purchase of the last one that Phronsie set her eyes on. But meantime
she had spied one on the upper shelf of all.
"There it is, Grandpapa," she cried, clapping her hands in delight,
"the very littlest of all, and isn't it beautiful, Grandpapa, dear?"
"Indeed it is," assented Grandpapa, and he had the man lift it down and
do it up; a piece of a Dutch newspaper again doing duty, when Phronsie
held out her arms to receive it. "You can't carry it, child; give it to
me. What in the world shall we do with the thing?" all this Grandpapa
was uttering in one breath.
"Oh, Grandpapa, dear, I do so want to carry Polly's little yellow
cheese," said Phronsie, the tears beginning to come in her eyes.
Grandpapa, who had taken the round parcel from her arms, looked from it
to her with increasing perplexity.
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