Part 64 (1/2)

”What's the matter, Phronsie?” asked Polly, leaning over from the opposite seat, where she was ensconced with Mrs. Whitney.

”I want my little purse,” said Phronsie, looking down at her empty hands, then up at her in grave reproach.

”Oh, Phronsie, you can take some of my money,” began Polly. ”We needn't wait for that, need we, Mamsie?” she cried, wrinkling up her forehead impatiently.

”I want my own little purse,” said Phronsie decidedly.

”Yes, Mamsie will get it,” said Mrs. Fisher; ”that is, if Mrs. Whitney can wait.” She cast a glance over Polly into the pleasant face above.

”Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Whitney, with a cheery smile; ”I think Phronsie had much better have her own little purse.”

”And I want my own purse, too,” declared little d.i.c.k, struggling to get down from the seat where he was wedged in with Jasper and Phronsie, ”Mine is big like a man's,” he added, with great importance.

”Dear me!” Mrs. Whitney burst into a merry laugh. ”Mrs. Fisher, do you think you could be troubled enough to get d.i.c.ky boy's purse, too?” she asked.

”I don't find it any trouble,” said Mrs. Fisher, with another laugh, ”to get them both.” So Phronsie's little purse, with a chain to hang on her arm, and d.i.c.k's bigger one, that folded like a pocketbook, were both handed into the carriage, Thomas cracked the whip, and off they went to see Candace in her little shop on Temple Place.

The next day but one, Rachel was visiting in the little stone house among the boulders. Phronsie had carefully explained how the reason that the cups and saucers were all on the ground and the dish-towels thrown carelessly aside, was that they had gone away with Auntie, who couldn't be kept waiting.

”Well, let's wash 'em up now,” said Rachel, flying for one of the diminutive dish-towels.

”I'm going to clean out the cupboard,” declared little d.i.c.k, going back to his original purpose.

”Let us do the cups and saucers first,” said Phronsie, with gentle determination, setting down Clorinda on a stone seat next to Rachel's doll, and carefully smoothing out her dress.

”No, I want to do the cupboard,” persisted little d.i.c.k, with strange obstinacy, for he was generally quite willing to give up to Phronsie.

”I tell you, Phronsie,” broke in Rachel suddenly: ”let's all set up the cupboard first, and then it will be ready to put the clean dishes into.

That's the best way.”

”Oh, let us,” said Phronsie, easily pleased, and giving a last pat to Rachel's doll. So she ran over to join the others, and, getting down on her knees, she began to fumble within the little cupboard. d.i.c.k had already opened the door, which was accomplished by taking away the stone.

”Now you take out one thing, Phronsie, and I'll take out the next,” said little d.i.c.k, crowding up as close as he could get.

”And then I'll take the things,” said Rachel, sitting down a little distance off, between the two, ”as you hand 'em out; so we'll all clean out the cupboard. Hullo! what's this?”--as Phronsie handed out the first article.

”That's a top,” said little d.i.c.k, looking back at her.

”A top!” cried Rachel in derision. ”Why, it won't spin; not a bit in this world.”

”It would before it was broken,” said Phronsie, for d.i.c.k had his face pressed close to the door of the cupboard, while his brown fingers were prowling about its interior.

”Dear me! why don't you throw it away?” cried Rachel. ”An old broken thing like that is no good.”

”Oh, we wouldn't ever throw it away, Rachel,” said Phronsie, in alarm.

”That's our dear top, and it used to spin beautifully,” and she took it affectionately out of Rachel's hand.