“You are worse than Dicky,” said Mrs. Fisher with a little laugh.  “Dear me, Polly, just think how old you are.”

Phronsie stood quite still in the middle of the floor and folded her hands.  “I want to see Grandpapa all alone when he comes up,” she said.

“What for?” cried Polly, pausing in astonishment.

“Do you want us all to go out, Phronsie?” asked her mother slowly.

“Yes,” said Phronsie, shaking her yellow head with great decision, “please every single one go out, Mamsie.  I want to see Grandpapa quite alone.”

“All right, child,” said Mrs. Fisher, with a look at Polly.  So after a little demur and consequent delay on the part of the others, the door was closed and she was left standing all alone.

Phronsie drew a long breath.  “I wish Grandpapa would come,” she said to herself.

“And so you wanted me, did you, dear?” cried Mr. King joyfully, as he hurried in and closed the door carefully.  “Well, now, see if I can guess what you want to tell me.”

“Grandpapa,” said Phronsie, standing quite still and turning a puzzled face toward him, “I don’t want to tell you anything; I want to ask you something.”

“Well, well, dear, what is it?” Old Mr. King, not stopping for a chair, leaned over her and stroked her yellow head.  “Now, then, look up, and ask me right off, Phronsie.”

“Must a person keep a promise?” asked Phronsie, “a really and truly promise, Grandpapa?”

“Yes, yes,” said the old gentleman with great abruptness, “to be sure one must, Phronsie.  To be sure.  So now if any one has promised you anything, do you make him stick to it.  It’s mean enough to break your word, child.”

Phronsie drew a long breath.

“That’s all, Grandpapa,” she said, and lifting up her arms; “now take me downstairs, please.”  She laid a cool little cheek against his, as he raised her to his shoulder.

“Remember what I say, Phronsie,” laughed Mr. King, his mind more intent on the delightful fact that he was carrying down the longed-for burden to the family life, than on what he was saying, “and if any one has promised you anything, keep him up sharp to pay you.  I verily believe it is that scamp Dick.  Here goes!” and reaching the door he threw it wide.  “Forward, march!”

“Well, is the important conference over?” asked Polly, with a keen look at them both.

Mrs. Fisher’s eyes did their duty, but she said nothing.

“Yes, indeed,” declared Mr. King, marching on gaily.  “Now clear the way there, all you good people.  Here, you Dick, drumming your heels, go ahead, sir.”

“I’m glad enough to,” shouted Dick, racing down the remainder of the stairs.  “Halloo, Phronsie,” waving his hand at her, “three cheers and a tiger!  Bother!  Here comes Mrs. Chatterton.”

Which was quite true.  To every one’s astonishment the door of that lady’s apartment opened slowly, disclosing her in new morning wrapper, preparing to join the cavalcade.