"She's my nice little girl, and I like her," Phronsie was saying. "Yes, I do, very much indeed, Grandpapa."

"You do?"

"Yes, and I want her to stay here, Grandpapa. Please, may she?"

"Oh, dear!"

"_Please_, Grandpapa dear." Phronsie put up one hand and tucked it softly under his chin. He seized it and covered it with kisses.

"Oh, my lamb--that wicked, careless Joanna!"

"What's the matter, Grandpapa?" Phronsie brought up her head to look at him with troubled eyes.

"Nothing--nothing, child; there, cuddle down again. Your mother is talking to the little girl, and she will fix up things. Oh, bless me!"

"Mamsie will fix up things, won't she, Grandpapa?" cooed Phronsie, wriggling her toes happily.

"Yes, dear."

"Grandpapa," said Phronsie, after a moment's silence only broken by a soft murmur of voices, for Mother Fisher had drawn her group to the further corner, "I don't think my little girl has got a very nice place to live in."

"Oh, Phronsie, child!" He strained her convulsively to his breast. "There, there, lamb, Oh, I didn't mean to! Grandpapa won't hurt his little pet for the world."

"You didn't hurt me this time," said Phronsie, "as much as you did before, Grandpapa dear."

"Oh, my child! Grandpapa wouldn't hurt a hair of your blessed head. Oh, that dreadful Joanna!"

"I like my own little girl very much indeed," said Phronsie, dismissing her own hurts to go on with her narrative. "Yes, I do, Grandpapa," she added decidedly, "but I don't like the place she lived in. And, Grandpapa"--here she drew a long breath--"there was an old lady came in, and I don't think she was a nice old lady, I don't, Grandpapa." Phronsie crept up a bit closer, if that were possible.

"What did she do, child?" He held his breath for the answer.

"She took hold of my arm," said Phronsie, a shiver seizing her at the remembrance, and she burrowed deeper within the protecting arms, "and she felt of my beads that Auntie gave me."

"What else?" He scarcely seemed to ask the question.

"And my own little girl pulled me away, and she carried me home, most of the way, and I like her." Phronsie brought herself up with an emphatic little nod, and smiled.

"That was good."

Phronsie smiled radiantly. "Wasn't it, Grandpapa!" she cried, in delight.

"And I want her to stay. May she? Oh, may she? She's my own little girl."

"We'll see about it," said old Mr. King, with a thought of the long welts on the thin arms, and the furious old woman.

"What's that noise?" asked Phronsie, suddenly lifting her head.

"Oh, a bird, maybe," said the old gentleman, carelessly looking up to the vines swinging around the veranda. "There, lay your head down again, child."

"It didn't sound like a bird, Grandpapa. I thought some one was crying."

Yet she put her yellow head obediently down, and didn't lift it again till Mother Fisher stood by the side of old Mr. King's chair.

"Well, is the conference over?" he asked.

"Yes," said Mrs. Pepper. Her lips had a little white line around them, too, like that on Polly's mouth, and the black eyes had a strange expression.

Phronsie popped her head up like a bird out of its nest, and piped out:

"Oh, please, Mamsie, may she stay?"

"Yes," said Mother Fisher, "she is going to stay, Phronsie."

"Oh, my goodness me!" breathed old Mr. King.

Phronsie slipped out of his arms and began to dance, clapping her hands.

"I'm going to play with her now, but I must get Clorinda first," she cried excitedly.

"See here, Phronsie," Mother Fisher called, as she was flying off, "you must not play with the little girl yet."

Phronsie stood quite still.

"Come here to mother." Mrs. Fisher opened her arms and Phronsie scuttled into them like a little rabbit. Mrs. Pepper held her so closely that Phronsie looked up quickly.

"Why, you are hurting me like Grandpapa, Mamsie."

"Oh, my child!" Mother Fisher seemed to forget herself, as she bowed her head over Phronsie's yellow hair.

"What is the matter, Mamsie?" asked Phronsie. "I wish I could see your face," and she wriggled violently.

"Nothing is the matter now," said Mamsie. "There, child, now I'll tell you.

If the little girl stays here, she----"

"She's my little girl," interrupted Phronsie.

"Well, if she stays here, she must be washed and have on clean clothes. So Sarah has taken her, and is going to fix her all up nice."

"Oh--oh!" cried Phronsie, in a transport, "and can she have some of Polly's clothes, Mamsie?"

"Yes, I guess so. Anyway, we will fix her up all nicely."

"And may she stay here for ever and ever," cried Phronsie, "and not go back to that un-nice old lady? Please, Mamsie, don't let her go back," she pleaded.

Over the yellow hair the old gentleman had found out and communicated several things back and forth. One was, "I don't think she is the child's own grandmother." "Mr. Cabot can investigate," and so on.

"What are you whispering about?" at last asked Phronsie.

"Nothing that you should know, dear. Now I'm going to put you in Grandpapa's lap, Phronsie. You must be a good girl," and Mother Pepper went off.

"You must take care of me, Phronsie," said the old gentleman, "for I really think I need it now. And I guess my hair does want to be smoothed, after all."