Margaret Sidney

“ Polly sat in the drawing-room, near the edge of the twilight, practicing away bravely. Somehow, of all the days when the home feeling was the strongest, this day it seemed as if she could bear it no longer. If she could only see Phronsie for just one moment! “I shall have to give up!” she moaned. “I can't bear it!” and over went her head on the music rack.
“Where is she?” said a voice over in front of the piano, in the gathering dusk—unmistakably Mr. King's.
“Oh, she's always at the piano,” said Van. “She must be there now, somewhere,” and then somebody laughed. ”

“ King with Phronsie still in her arms. “Oh, you are the dearest and best Mr. King I ever saw! but how did you make mammy let her come?”
“Isn't he splendid!” cried Jasper in intense pride, swelling up. “Father knew how to do it.”
But Polly's arms were around the old gentleman's neck, so she didn't hear. “There, there,” he said soothingly, patting her brown, fuzzy head. Something was going down the old gentleman's neck, that wet his collar, and made him whisper very tenderly in her ear, “don't give way now, Polly; Phronsie'll see you.” ”

“ Whitney; “and father, I do believe they'll repay you; for I do think there's good blood there; these children have a look about them that shows them worthy to be trusted.”
“So they have: so they have,” assented Mr. ”