“Two hundred dolls!” cried Alexia in astonishment, and raising her hands.

“Why, yes; father has been bringing Phronsie dolls for the last five years, with the greatest faithfulness, till her family has increased to a painful extent.”

“O dear me!” cried Alexia, with great emphasis.  “I should think they’d be under foot in every room.”

“Well, indeed they’re not,” said Polly; “she keeps them up in her playroom.”

“And the playroom closet,” said Mrs. Whitney, “that is full.  I peeped in there yesterday, and the dolls are ranged according to the times when father gave them to her.”

“And the baby-house is just crowded,” laughed Jasper.  “I know, because I saw her moving out her chairs and tables to make room.”

“O dear me!” exclaimed Alexia again, for want of something else to say.

“I just hate dolls,” exploded Dick.  “Faugh! how can girls play with them; they’re so silly.  And Phronsie always has something to do for hers, so she can’t come when I want her to.  I wish they were burned up,” he added vindictively.

Mr. King rubbed his forehead in a puzzled way.  “Perhaps she has enough,” he said at last.  “Yet what shall I give her if I don’t buy a doll?”

“I’d give her the phonograph one, father,” said Mrs. Whitney, “anyway.”

“Yes, of course; but after that, what shall I do?”

He looked so troubled that Mrs. Whitney hastened to say, “Oh, well, father! you know when you are abr”—­and the secret Was nearly out for the second time!

But they were saved by the appearance of Alexia’s father, who often dropped in on the edge of the dinner hour, for a second cup of coffee.

The next morning Phronsie was waiting for Grandpapa King, who insisted that no one else should carry her downstairs, the remainder of the household in various stages of delight and expectation, revolving around her, and curbing their impatience as best they might, in hall and on staircase.

“Oh, Grandpapa! do hurry,” begged Dick, kicking his heels on the stairs.

“Hush, Dicky boy,” said mamma.  “Grandpapa can’t come till his agent is gone.  Don’t you hear them talking in the library?”

“Well I wish Mr. Frazer would take himself off; he’s a nuisance,” declared the boy.  “He’s been here a whole hour.”

“Here comes Grandpapa!” announced Polly gleefully, from a station nearer the library.  “Hush, now, Mr. Frazer’s going!”

The library door opening at this announcement, and a few sentences charged with business floating up the staircase, the bustle around Phronsie became joyfully intense.

“Mamsie, don’t you think she ought to have a shawl on?” cried Polly anxiously, running over the stairs.  “She’s been shut up so long!”

“No,” said Mother Fisher.  “Doctor told me particularly not to bundle her up.  It was the last thing he said before he went to his office.”

“Well,” said Polly with a sigh, “then there isn’t absolutely anything more to do for her.  Why doesn’t Grandpapa come?”