“No, Jasper,” said the child quietly.  Then in the next breath, “I think Joey must be very sick.”

“Oh!  Mamsie is taking care of him, and he’ll soon be all right,” broke in Polly cheerily.  “Do go with Jasper, Phronsie, do, dear.”  She took hold of the clasped hands, and smiled up into the drooping face.

But Phronsie shook her head and said “No.”

“If Grandpapa should come in and find her so ’twould be very dreadful!” exclaimed Polly, looking over at the five boys, who in this sudden emergency were knocked speechless.  “Do let us all play some game.  Can’t some one think of one?”

“Let us play ‘Twenty Questions,’” proposed Jasper brightly.  “I’ll begin it, I’ve thought of something.”

“That’s horrid,” cried Van, finding his tongue, “none of us want to play that, I’m sure.”

“I do,” said David.  “I think ‘Twenty Questions’ is always nice.  Is it animal, vegetable or mineral, Jasper?”

“I’m sick of it.  Do play something not quite as old as the hills, I beg.”

“Well, you think of something yourself, old man,” said Jasper, nodding furiously at him.  “Hurry up.”

“I’d rather have Polly tell a story than any game you could possibly think of,” said Van, going over to her, where she sat on the rug at Phronsie’s feet.  “Polly, will you?” he asked wheedlingly.

“Don’t ask her to-night,” interposed Jasper.

“Yes, I shall.  It’s the only time we shall have,” said Van, “before we go back to school.  Do, Polly, will you?” he begged again.

“I can’t think of the first thing,” declared Polly, pushing back little rings of brown hair from her forehead.

“Don’t try to think; just spin it off,” said Van.  “Now begin.”

“You’re a regular nuisance, Van!” exclaimed Jasper indignantly.  “Polly, I wouldn’t indulge him.”

“I know Phronsie wants a story; don’t you, Phronsie?” asked Van artfully, and running over to peer into her face.

But to his astonishment, Phronsie stood perfectly still.  “No,” she said again, “I don’t want a story; Joey must be sick.”

“Jasper,” cried Polly in despair, and springing up, “something must be done.  Grandpapa’s coming; I hear him.”

“Phronsie,” said Jasper, bending to speak into her ear, “do you know you are making Polly feel very unhappy?  Just think; the next thing I don’t know but what she’ll cry.”

Phronsie unfolded her hands.  “Give me your handkerchief, Polly,” she said, winking back the rest of the tears.

“Now, there’s a dear,” cried Polly, pulling out her handkerchief and wiping the wet, little face.  None too soon; the door opened and Mr. King came in.

“Well—­well—­well!” he exclaimed, looking over his spectacles at them all.  “Playing games, hey?”

“We’re going to,” said Ben and Jasper together.

“No, Polly is going to tell a story,” said Van loudly, “that is, if you want to hear it, Grandpapa.  Do say you do,” he begged, going over to whisper in his ear.