thing in the corner, that looked as if it were ashamed of itself;
"why, she's got one."

"Oh," said the child, "it won't burn; and sometimes Polly cries, she
does, when she's all alone--and I see her."

"Now," said the doctor, very sympathetically, "that's too bad; that
is! and then what does she do?"

"Oh, Ben stuffs it up," said the child, laughing; "and so does Polly
too, with paper; and then it all tumbles out quick; oh! just as
quick!" And Phronsie shook her yellow head at the dismal
remembrance.

"Do you suppose," said the doctor, getting up, "that you know of
any smart little girl around here, about four years old and that
knows how to button on her own red-topped shoes, that would like
to go to ride to-morrow morning in my carriage with me?

"Oh, I do!" cried Phronsie, hopping on one toe; "it's me!"

"Very well, then," said Dr. Fisher, going to the bedroom door,
"we'll lookout for to-morrow, then."

To poor Polly, lying in the darkened room, or sitting up in the big
rocking-chair--for Polly wasn't really very sick in other respects,
the disease having all gone into the merry brown eyes--the time
seemed interminable. Not to do anything! The very idea at any
time would have filled her active, wide-awake little body with
horror; and now, here she was!