"Do you mean a peasant doll to add to the collection?" asked Polly; for
old Mr. King had bought a doll in the national costume in every country
in which they had travelled, and they had been packed away, together
with the other things as fast as purchased, and sent off home across
the sea.
"Yes," said Phronsie. "I do, Polly, and it's to be a most beautiful
French doll--oh!"
And sure enough, Mr. King, who knew exactly what kind of a doll he
meant to purchase, and had kept his eyes open for it, stumbled upon it
by a piece of rare good luck in a shop where he least expected to find
it.
"Oh, may I carry her home, Grandpapa?" begged Phronsie, hanging over
the doll in a transport. "Please don't have her shut up in a box--but
do let me carry her in my arms."
"Oh, Phronsie, she's too big," objected Mr. King, "and very heavy."
"Oh, Grandpapa, she's not heavy," cried Phronsie, not meaning to
contradict, but so anxious not to have her child sent home shut up in a
box, that she forgot herself.
"Well, I don't know but what you may," said Grandpapa, relenting. "I
will call a cab after we get through with this next shop," he
reflected, "and it won't hurt her to carry the doll that short
distance." So they came out of the shop, and deciding to take a short
cut, they started across the boulevard, he taking the usual precaution
to gather Phronsie's hand in his.
As they were halfway across the street, with its constant stream of
pedestrians and vehicles, a sudden gust of wind flapped the doll's pink
silk cape up against Phronsie's eyes, and taking her hand away from
Grandpapa's a second to pull down the cape, for she couldn't see, she
slipped, and before she knew it, had fallen on top of the doll in the
middle of the street.
Pages:
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303