ever was she very
long absent from his side, which so pleased the old gentleman that
he could scarcely contain himself, as with a gravity befitting the
importance of her office, she would follow him around in a happy
contented way, that took with him immensely. And now-a-days, no one ever
saw the old gentleman going out of a morning, when Jasper was busy with
his lessons, without Phronsie by his side, and many people turned to see
the portly figure with the handsome head bent to catch the prattle of
a little sunny-haired child, who trotted along, clasping his hand
confidingly. And nearly all of them stopped to gaze the second time
before they could convince themselves that it was really that queer,
stiff old Mr. King of whom they had heard so much.

And now the accumulation of dolls in the house became something
alarming, for Mr. King, observing Phronsie's devotion to her family,
thought there couldn't possibly be too many of them; so he scarcely
ever went out without bringing home one at least to add to them, until
Phronsie had such a remarkable collection as would have driven almost
any other child nearly crazy with delight. She, however, regarded them
something in the light of a grave responsibility, to be taken care of
tenderly, to be watched over carefully as to just the right kind of
bringing up; and to have small morals and manners taught in just the
right way.

Phronsie was playing in the corner of Mrs. Whitney's little boudoir,
engaged in sending out invitations for an elaborate tea-party to be
given by one of the dolls, when Polly rushed in with consternation in
her tones, and dismay written all over her face.

"What is it, dear?" asked Mrs. Whitney, looking up from her embroidery.

"Why," said Polly, "how could I! I don't see--but I've forgotten to
write to mamsie to-day; it's Wednesday, you know, and there's Monsieur
coming." And poor Polly looked out in despair to see the lively little
music teacher advancing towards the house at an alarming rate of speed.

"That is because you were helping Van so long last evening over his
lessons," said Mrs. Whitney; "I am so sorry."

"Oh, no," cried Polly honestly, "I had plenty of time--but I forgot
'twas mamsie's day. What will she do!"

"You will have to let it go now till the afternoon, dear; there's no
other way; it can go in the early morning mail."

"Oh, dear," sighed Polly, "I suppose I must." And she went down to meet
Monsieur with a very distressed lit