"Grandpapa," Phronsie did not trust herself to reply, but, springing
up, she laid her rosy little mouth close to his ear. "What does it
all--the dreadful thing mean?" she whispered.

"It means," old Mr. King whispered back, but very distinctly, "that
your old Granddaddy is an idiot, Phronsie, and that he has been rude,
and let his temper run away with him."

"Oh, no, Grandpapa dear," contradicted Phronsie, falling back from him
in horror. "You couldn't ever be that what you say." And she flung both
arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

"What? An idiot? Yes, I have been an idiot of the worst kind," declared
Mr. King, "and all the rest just as I say; rude and--why, what is the
matter, Phronsie?" for the little arms clutched him so tightly he could
hardly breathe.

"Oh, Grandpapa," she wailed, and drawing away a bit to look at him, he
saw her face convulsed with the effort not to cry. "Don't say such
things. You are never naughty, Grandpapa dear; you can't be," she
gasped.

"There, there, there," ejaculated old Mr. King, frightened at the
effect of his words and patting her yellow hair, at his wits' end what
to say. So he broke out, "Well, now, Phronsie, you must tell me what to
do."

Thereupon Phronsie, seeing there was something she could really do to
help Grandpapa, came out of her distress enough to sit up quite
straight and attentive in his lap. "You see I spoke rudely to a man,