time with Grandpapa and Mamsie and Phronsie just for
the sake of a horrible--"

Then she broke short off, and ran back into Mamsie's room, and flung
herself down by the bed, just as she used to do by the four-poster in
the bedroom of the little brown house.

"Why, Polly, child!" Mother Fisher's voice was very cheery as she came
in, Phronsie hurrying after.

"I don't see her," began Phronsie in a puzzled way, and peering on all
sides. "Where is she, Mamsie?"

Mrs. Fisher went over and laid her hand on Polly's brown head. "Now,
Phronsie, you may run out, that is a good girl." She leaned over, and
set a kiss on Phronsie's red lips.

"Is Polly sick?" asked Phronsie, going off to the door obediently, but
looking back with wondering eyes.

"No, dear, I think not," said Mrs. Fisher. "Run along, dear."

"I am so glad she isn't sick," said Phronsie, as she went slowly off.
Yet she carried a troubled face.

"I ought to go and see how Sinbad is," she decided, as she went
downstairs. This visit was an everyday performance, to be carefully gone
through with. So she passed out of the big side doorway, to the veranda.

"There is Michael now," she cried joyfully, espying that individual
raking up the west lawn. So skipping off, she flew over to him. This
caught the attention of little Dick from the nursery window.

"Hurry up there!" he cried crossly to Battles, who was having a hard
time anyway getting him into a fresh sailor suit.

"Oh, Dicky--Dicky!" called mamma softly from her room.

"I can't help it, mamma; Battles is slow and poky," he fumed.

"Oh, no, dear," said his mother; "Battles always gets you ready very
swiftly, as well as nicely."

Battles, a comfortable person, turned her round face with a smile toward
the door. "And if you was more like your mamma, Master Dick, you'd be
through with dressing, and make everything more pleasant to yourself and
to every one else."

"Well, I'm not in the least like mamma, Battles; I can't be."

"No, indeed, you ain't. But you can try," said Battles encouragingly.

"Why, Battles Whitney!" exclaimed Dick, whirling around on her. In
astonishment, or any excitement, Dicky invariably gave her the whole
name that he felt she ought to possess; "Mrs. Mara Battles" not being at
all within his comprehension. "What an _awful_ story!"

"Dicky--Dicky!" reproved Mrs. Whitney.

"Well, I can't help it, mamma." Dick now escaped from Battles' hands
altogether, and fled into the other