soon as he got home, viewed her critically through his big spectacles, and
said, "The child is all right. Let her sleep." Which she did, until every
one of the household, creeping in and out, declared she could not possibly
sleep any longer, and that they must wake her up. This last was from Polly.

"What do you suppose it is, Mamsie?" she asked, for about the fiftieth
time, hanging over Phronsie's little bed.

"Nothing," said Mrs. Fisher, with firm lips. Polly must not be worried by
unnecessary alarm, and really there seemed to be nothing amiss with
Phronsie, who was sleeping peacefully, with calm little face and even
breath. "It's the best thing for her to sleep till she's rested."

"But what could have tired her so?" said Polly, with a puzzled face.

"That's just what we can't find out now," said her mother, diving into her
basket for another of Van's stockings. "Oh, here is the mate. When she
wakes up, she'll tell us."

"Well, Joanna is going, isn't she, Mamsie?" asked Polly, deserting the
little bed to fling herself down on the floor at Mrs. Fisher's feet, to
watch the busy fingers.

"Yes, she is," said Mother Fisher decidedly.

"I'm so very glad of that," said Polly, with a sigh of relief, "because you
know, Mamsie, she might go off again and leave Phronsie when she ought to
be watching her."

"Say no more about it, Polly," said her mother, setting even, firm