tle heart.

Phronsie laid down the note of invitation she was scribbling, and
stopped to think; and a moment or two after, at a summons from a caller,
Mrs. Whitney left the room.

"I know I ought to," said Phronsie to herself and the dolls, "yes, I
know I had; mamsie will feel, oh! so bad, when she don't get Polly's
letter; and I know the way, I do, truly."

She got up and went to the window, where she thought a minute; and then,
coming back, she took up her little stubby pencil, and bending over a
small bit of paper, she commenced to trace with laborious efforts and
much hard breathing, some very queer hieroglyphics that to her seemed to
be admirable, as at last she held them up with great satisfaction.

"Good-bye," she said then, getting up and bowing to the dolls who sat
among the interrupted invitations, "I won't be gone but a little bit of
one minute," and she went out determinedly and shut the door.

Nobody saw the little figure going down the carriage drive, so of course
nobody could stop her. When Phronsie got to the gateway she looked up
and down the street carefully, either way.

"Yes," she said, at last, "it was down here, I'm very sure, I went with
grandpa," and immediately turned down the wrong way, and went on and
on, grasping carefully her small, and by this time rather soiled bit of
paper.

At last she reached the business streets; and although she didn't come
to the Post Office, she comforted herself by the thought--"it must be
coming soon. I guess it's round this corner."

She kept turning corner after corner, until, at last, a little anxious
feeling began to tug at her heart; and she began to think--"I wish I
could see Polly--" And now, she had all she could do to get out of
the way of the crowds of people who were pouring up and down the
thoroughfare. Everybody jostled against her, and gave her a push. "Oh
dear!" thought Phronsie, "there's such a many big people!" and then
there was no time for anything else but to stumble in and out, to
keep from being crushed completely beneath their feet. At last, an old
huckster woman, in passing along, knocked off her bonnet with the end
of her big basket, which flew around and struck Phronsie's head. Not
stopping to look into the piteous brown eyes, she strode on without a
word. Phronsie turned in perfect despair to go down a street that looked
as if there might be room enough for her in it. Thoroughly frightened,
she plunged over the crossing, to reac