King, who wouldn't
have cared if a hundred dolls had been left behind, not giving it a
thought. Now she looked anxiously on all sides. "Oh, where is she,
Grandpapa dear?" she wailed, "my child; where is she?"
"Never mind, Phronsie," cried Mr. King, "I'll get you another one
to-morrow. There, get in the cab, child."
"But I want her--I can't go home without my child!" And Phronsie's lip
began to quiver. "Oh, there she is, Grandpapa!" and she darted off a
few steps, where somebody had set the poor thing on the pavement,
propped up against a lamp-post.
"Oh, you can't carry her home," said Mr. King, in dismay at the muddy
object splashed from head to foot, with the smart pink cape that had
been the cause of the disaster, now torn clear through the middle, by
the hoof of a passing horse. He shuddered at the sight of it. "Do leave
it, Phronsie, child."
"But she's sick now and hurt; oh, Grandpapa, I can't leave my child,"
sobbed Phronsie, trying with all her might to keep the tears back. All
this time the shabby man stood silently by, looking on.
A bright thought struck the old gentleman. "I'll tell you, Phronsie,"
he said quickly. "Give the doll to this man for one of his little
children; they'll take care of it, and like it."
"Oh, Grandpapa!" screamed Phronsie, skipping up and down and clapping
her muddy little hands, then she picked up the doll and lifted it
toward him.
Pages:
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305