ration: "SEE, JOEL, I'M ALL FIXED UP NICE," LAUGHED PHRONSIE FROM
HER PERCH.]

Joel's mouth worked dreadfully, but he saw Mamsie's eyes, so he piped up
bravely, "I'm so glad, Phronsie." It sounded very funnily, for it died
away in his throat, and he couldn't have said another word possibly; but
Phronsie was sleepy, and didn't notice. And then the doctor said they
must go out; so with a last glance at Phronsie, to be sure that she was
all right, Joel went off, Polly holding his hand.

The next evening they were all drawn up before the library fire; Polly
on the big rug with Joel's head in her lap, his eyes fixed on Phronsie,
who was ensconced in an easy-chair, close to which Grandpapa was
sitting.

"Tell stories, do, Polly," begged Van.

"Yes, do, Polly," said little Dick, who had spent most of the day in
trying to get near to Phronsie, keeping other people very much occupied
in driving him off, as she had to be very quiet. "Do, Polly," he begged.

"Oh, Polly's tired," said Jasper, knowing that she had been with
Phronsie all her spare time, and looking at the brown eyes which were
drooping a bit in the firelight.

"Oh, no, I will," said Polly, rousing herself, and feeling that she
ought not to be tired, when Phronsie was getting well so fast, and
everything was so beautiful. "I'll tell you one. Let me see, what shall
it be about?" and she leant her head in her hands to think a bit.

"Let her off," said Jasper; "do, boys. I'll tell you one instead," he
said.

"No, we don't want yours," said Van, not very politely. "We want
Polly's."

"For shame, Van!" said Percy, who dearly loved to reprove his brother,
and never allowed the occasion to slip when he could do so.

"For shame yourself!" retorted Van, flinging himself down on the rug.
"You're everlastingly teasing Polly to do things when she's tired to
death. So there, Percy Whitney."

"Oh, I'll tell the story," Polly said, hastily bringing her brown head
up, while Phronsie began to look troubled.

"I'd like to tell a story," said Tom Beresford slowly, where he sat just
back of the big rug.

All the young folks turned to regard him, and Van was just going to say,
"Oh, we don't want yours, Tom," when Polly leaned forward, "Oh, will
you--will you, Tom?" so eagerly that Van hadn't the heart to object.

"Yes, I will," promised Tom, nodding at her.

"Well, get down on the rug, then," said Jasper, moving up; "the
story-teller always has to have a place of honor