“I dare say, I dare say, Cousin Eunice,” assented Mr. King carelessly, “but I consider all you say as a compliment.”

“Compliment?” she repeated disdainfully, and added with a rising note of anger, forgetting herself, “there’s no fool like an old fool.”

“So I think,” said Mr. King in the same tone as before.  “Children, come into my room now, and close the door.”  And Cousin Eunice was left to air further opinions to her own ear.

But when Mother Pepper and Mrs. Whitney did come home from the meeting, oh! what a time there was.  They all fell upon her, as soon as the door opened, and the whole air was filled with “little brown house.”  “May we--may we?” “A whole week.”  “Two days, Mamsie, do say yes,” and Phronsie’s glad little chirp “Grandpapa wants to go, he does!” ending every other exclamation.

“What a babel,” cried Mrs. Pepper, her black eyes roving over the excited group.  “Now what is it all about?  Baby, you tell mother first.”

Phronsie was not too big to jump into the comfortable lap, and while her fingers played with the bonnet strings, she laid the whole delightful plan open, the others hanging over them in ill-suppressed excitement.

“Well, you see, Mamsie,” she began deliberately.

“Oh! you are so slow, Phronsie,” exclaimed Polly, “do hurry.”

“Let her take her own time,” said Mr. King, “go on, child.”

“Dear Grandpapa,” proceeded Phronsie, turning her yellow head to look at him, her hand yet among the bonnet strings, “is going to take us all, every single one, to see the little brown house, and just touch it once, and be sure it’s there, and peek in the doors and windows and”—­

“No, no,” roared Joel, “we’re going to stay, and a week too,” hopping confidently up and down.

“Oh, Joe! not a week,” corrected Polly with glowing cheeks, “perhaps two days; we don’t know yet.”

“Three—­three,” begged Van, pushing his head further into the center of the group.  “Mrs. Pepper, do say you want to stay three days,” he begged.

“I haven’t said I wanted to go yet,” she answered with a smile.

“Now, every one of you keep quiet,” commanded Mr. King, raising his hand, “or you’ll spoil the whole thing.  Phronsie shall tell her story as she likes.”

Thereupon the rest, with the shadow of his warning that the whole might be spoiled, fell back to a vigorous restraint once more.

“Perhaps,” cried Phronsie with shining eyes, and grasping the strings tighter she leaned forward and pressed her red lips on the mother’s mouth, “we’ll go in and stay.  Oh, Mamsie!”

That “Oh, Mamsie!” carried the day, and every one hanging on the conversation knew as soon as they heard it that a victory had been won.

“It’s no use to contend against the Fates,” said Mrs. Whitney, laughing, “Mrs. Pepper, you and I know that.”

“That’s so,” cried old Mr. King, “and whoever finds it out early in life, is the lucky one.  Now, children, off with you and talk it over,” he cried, dismissing them as if they were all below their teens.  “I want to talk with Mrs. Pepper now.”