"No, Phronsie, I don't," replied old Mr. King, in desperation. "If he
had, why should he run in this fashion when I was just asking him where
he lived?"
"But he didn't hear you, Grandpapa," said Phronsie, "when the man
knocked your hat off."
"Oh, well, he knew enough what I wanted," said Mr. King, who, now that
he had let out his belief, was going to support it by all the reasons
in his power. "No, no, Phronsie, it won't do; the fellow was an
impostor, and we must just accept the fact, and make the best of it, my
child."
"But he told a lie," said Phronsie, in horror, unable to think of
anything else.
"Well." Mr. King had no words to say on that score, so he wisely said
nothing.
"That poor man told a lie," repeated Phronsie, as if producing a wholly
fresh statement.
"There, child, I wouldn't think anything more of it," said Grandpapa,
soothingly, patting her little hand.
"Grandpapa," said Phronsie, "I've given away my child, and she's sick
because she fell and hurt her, and there isn't any little girl, and--and
--that poor man told a lie!" And she flung herself up against Grandpapa's
waistcoat, and sobbed as if her heart would break.
Old Mr. King looked wildly around for Polly. And as good fortune would
have it, in she ran. This wasn't very strange, for Polly kept nearly as
close to Phronsie in these days, as Grandpapa himself.
"Here, Polly," he called brokenly, "this is something beyond me.
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