Down the long corridor she hurried, not knowing which way Grandpapa
went, but turning into the little reading room, she spied him sitting
by the table. The apartment was otherwise empty. He wasn't reading, not
even looking at a paper, but sitting bolt upright, and lost in thought.

"Grandpapa," she said, laying a soft little hand on his arm. "Oh, I'm
so glad I found you." And she nestled up to his side.

"Eh? Oh, Phronsie, child." Old Mr. King put his arm around her, and
drew her closely to him. "So you came after your old Grand-daddy, did
you?"

"Yes, I did," said Phronsie, with a glad little cry, snuggling up
tighter to him, while the tears trailed off down his waistcoat, but not
before he had seen them.

"Now, Phronsie, you are not to cry any more," he said, with a pang at
the sight. "You won't, dear; promise me that."

So Phronsie promised; and he held her hands, and, clearing his throat,
he began, "Well, now I suppose they felt pretty badly, back there in
the room, your mother and all--eh, Phronsie?"

"Yes, Grandpapa," said Phronsie, her round face falling. Yet she had
promised not to cry, and, although she had a hard time of it, every
tear was kept back valiantly.

"And Polly, now--" asked old Mr. King, cautiously, "and Jasper--how
were they feeling?"