"Why, where"--she began laughingly.

"She wouldn't go downstairs, I don't think," said Mrs. Pepper, peering
in all the corners, and even meditating a look under the bed.

"No, no," cried Polly, "the lights are all turned out," investigating
all possible and impossible nooks that a mouse could creep into. "Where
can she be? Phronsie--Phronsie!"

"Well, of course she is downstairs," declared Mrs. Pepper at last,
hurrying out of the room.

"Take a candle, Mamsie, you'll fall," cried Polly, and throwing on her
bath wrapper, she seized the light from the mantel and hurried after
her.

Half-way down she could hear Phronsie's gay little laugh, and catch the
words "Good-night, my dear Grandpapa," and then she came slowly out from
Mr. King's sitting-room, and softly closed the door.

"Phronsie!" exclaimed Polly, sitting down on the middle of the stairs,
the candle shaking ominously, "how could"--

"Hush!" said Mrs. Pepper, who had fumbled her way along the hall. "Don't
say anything. Oh, Phronsie dear, so you went down to bid Grandpapa good-
night, did you?"

Phronsie turned a glance of gentle surprise on her mother, and then
looked up at Polly.