Margaret Sidney

“ Do you mean Prince, Phronsie?”
“No, I don't mean Princey,” said the child decisively; “I mean my sick man.”
“It's Jasper's father, I guess she means,” said Mrs. Pepper over in the corner; “but what in the world!”
“Yes, yes,” cried Phronsie, perfectly delighted at being at last understood, and hopping on one toe; “my sick man.”
“I shall give up!” said Polly, tumbling over in a chair, with the cake spoon in her hand, from which a small sticky lump fell on her apron, which Joel immediately pounced upon and devoured. “What do you want to bake, Phronsie?” ”

“ I don't see but what you can get 'em there well enough; but I'm sure I don't know what you can make.”
“Can't we,” said Polly—and she knelt down by her mother's side and put her face in between the sewing in Mrs. Pepper's lap, and the eyes bent kindly down on her—“make some little cakes, real cakes I mean? now don't say no, mammy!” she said, alarmed, for she saw a “no” slowly coming in the eyes above her, as Mrs. Pepper began to shake her head.
“But we haven't any white flour, Polly,” began her mother.
“I know,” said Polly ”