Grandpapa do, or any of us, pray tell?"

"Grandpapa would come here," declared Phronsie decidedly, and shaking
her yellow head to enforce her statement. "Of course Grandpapa would
come here, Polly. We couldn't live without him."

"That's it," said Polly, with a corresponding shake of her brown head,
"of course we couldn't live without Grandpapa; and just as 'of course'
he couldn't leave his own dear home. He never would be happy, Phronsie,
to do that."

Phronsie took a step or two into the sunshine lying on the middle of the
old kitchen floor. "Then I'd rather not come, Polly," she said. But she
sighed and Polly was just about saying, "We'll run down now and then
perhaps, Phronsie, as we have done now," when the door was thrown open
suddenly, and Joel burst in, his face as white as a sheet, and working
fearfully.

"Oh, Polly! you must tell Mrs. Whitney--I can't."

Polly sprang to her feet; Mrs. Pepper, who had just stepped into the
pantry, was saying, "I think, Polly, I'll make some apple dumplings, the
boys like them so much."

"What is it, Joe?" cried Polly hoarsely, and standing quite still.
Phronsie, with wide eyes, went up and took the boy's cold hand, and
gazed into his face as he leaned against the door.

"Dick!" groaned Joel; "oh! oh! I can't bear it," and covering his face
with one hand, he would have pulled the other from Phronsie's warm