Jasper came running out as the cab drove into the court. "Oh!"
he exclaimed, at sight of Phronsie's face, then drove the words on his
tongue back again, as he lifted her out.
"Give her to Polly to fix up a bit," said his father. "She's all right,
Jasper, my boy, I can't talk of it now. Hurry and take her to Polly."
And for the following days, Mr. King never let Phronsie out of his
sight. A new and more splendid doll, if possible, was bought, and all
sorts and styles of clothes for it, which Phronsie took the greatest
delight in caring for, humming happily to herself at the pleasure the
poor man's little girl was taking at the same time with her other
child.
"Grandpapa," she said, laying down the doll carefully on the sofa, and
going over to the table where Mr. King had just put aside the
newspaper, "I do wish we could go and see that poor man and all his
children--why didn't he tell us where he lived?"
"The dickens!" exclaimed old Mr. King, unguardedly, "because the fellow
is an impostor, Phronsie. He saved your life," and he seized Phronsie
and drew her to his knee, "but he lied about those children. O dear
me!" And he pulled himself up.
"Then he hasn't any little children?" said Phronsie, opening her eyes
very wide, and speaking very slowly.
"Er-oh-I don't know," stammered Grandpapa; "it's impossible to tell,
Phronsie."
"But you don't believe he has any," said Phronsie, with grave
persistence, fastening her brown eyes on his face.
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