“You’ve had a good time?” asked Mrs. Pepper slowly, with a keen glance into the flushed face and sparkling eyes, as they turned up the gas in Polly’s bedroom.  “Dear me! it is half-past eleven.”

“Splendid,” said Polly, shaking herself free from the white gown and beginning to braid her hair for the night.  “Percy and Van were perfectly lovely, and Mr. Alstyne was so good to me.  And oh!  Mamsie, isn’t dear Mr. King just the dearest dear, to give all this to the boys?  We haven’t thanked him half enough.”

“He is indeed,” said Mrs. Pepper heartily.  “Why, where is Phronsie?” looking around the room.

“She was right back of you,” said Polly.  “She wanted to take off her things herself.  Did you ever see such a sweet”—­she began, but Mrs. Pepper did not stop to hear, hurrying out to the adjoining room, shared by the mother and her baby.

“She isn’t here,” Polly heard her say in bewildered tones.  So Polly, her long hair blown about her face, ran in, brush in hand.

“Why, where”—­she began laughingly.

“She wouldn’t go downstairs, I don’t think,” said Mrs. Pepper, peering in all the corners, and even meditating a look under the bed.

“No, no,” cried Polly, “the lights are all turned out,” investigating all possible and impossible nooks that a mouse could creep into.  “Where can she be?  Phronsie—­Phronsie!”

“Well, of course she is downstairs,” declared Mrs. Pepper at last, hurrying out of the room.

“Take a candle, Mamsie, you’ll fall,” cried Polly, and throwing on her bath wrapper, she seized the light from the mantel and hurried after her.

Half-way down she could hear Phronsie’s gay little laugh, and catch the words “Good-night, my dear Grandpapa,” and then she came slowly out from Mr. King’s sitting-room, and softly closed the door.

“Phronsie!” exclaimed Polly, sitting down on the middle of the stairs, the candle shaking ominously, “how could”—­

“Hush!” said Mrs. Pepper, who had fumbled her way along the hall.  “Don’t say anything.  Oh, Phronsie dear, so you went down to bid Grandpapa good-night, did you?”

Phronsie turned a glance of gentle surprise on her mother, and then looked up at Polly.

“No, not exactly to bid him good-night,” she said slowly.  “I was afraid he was sick; I heard him coughing, so I went down.”

“He is quite well, isn’t he?” asked Mrs. Pepper.  “Here, give me your hand, child; we must get up to bed.”

“Oh, yes! he is quite really and truly all well,” declared Phronsie, breaking into another glad little laugh.  “He said he never had such a beautiful time in his life, and he is just as well as he can be.  Oh, Polly!” as she picked up her Princess gown and prepared to ascend the stairs, “how funny you look sitting there!”

“Funny?” said Polly grimly.  “I dare say, and I feel funny too, Phronsie.”

VI