CHAPTER III.

CHRISTMAS AT DUNRAVEN.


"Grandpapa," cried Phronsie, flying down the platform, "the box of dolls
isn't here!"

"Goodness me!" exclaimed old Mr. King, whirling around, "'tisn't
possible, child, that we've come off without that. It must be with the
other luggage."

"O, no, Grandpapa dear!" declared Phronsie in great distress, and
clasping her hands to keep the tears back, "it really, surely hasn't
come; Polly says so."

"Well, then, if Polly says so, it must have been left at home," said the
old gentleman, "and there's no use in my going to look over the
luggage," he groaned.

"What's the matter?" cried Joel, rushing up, his jolly face aglow.

"The worst thing that could possibly happen," said Mr. King irritably;
"Phronsie's box of dolls is left behind." Then he began to fume up and
down the platform, wholly lost to everything but his indignation.

"Whew!" ejaculated Joel, "that is a miss!" and he looked down at