"No," said Phronsie, "only where is the hook, Grandpapa? I don't see
it." She lifted her little face and gazed up at him confident that he
knew everything.

"She has lost her button-hook!" exclaimed Polly, "the cunning little
silver one Auntie Whitney gave her Christmas. I'll run back and get it;
it must be in the state-room."

"Stay, Polly," commanded Mr. King. And, "Oh, no, I haven't," piped
Phronsie, as Polly was flying off. "It's here in my bag," patting
Grandpapa's gift hanging on her arm. "I couldn't lose that, Polly," she
cried in horror at the thought, as Polly hurried back.

"Well, what is it, then, you've lost?" demanded Polly, breathlessly.

"I haven't lost anything," reiterated Phronsie, pushing back the yellow
hair from her face. "Grandpapa, tell them, please, I haven't lost
anything," she kept repeating, appealing to him.

"She says she hasn't lost anything, so we won't say that again," echoed
old Mr. King. "Now, Phronsie, child, tell me what it is you mean; what
hook you want."

"The hook," said Phronsie; "here, Grandpapa," and she looked all around
in a troubled way, "they said it was here; I don't see it, Grandpapa."

"She means the Hook of Holland," burst out Polly, "don't you, Phronsie
pet?" And she threw her arms around her while Mr. Henderson exclaimed,
"Of course, why didn't we think of it, to be sure?"