“Polly, speak to her,” he cried in despair; “where is she? gone for the water?  O dear!  Here, Ben, you try.  Dear, dear, what a blunderer I am.”

“Phronsie,” said Ben, leaning over the shaking figure, “you are making Grandpapa sick.”

Up came Phronsie’s yellow head.  “Oh, Grandpapa!” she wailed, putting out an unsteady little hand, “I didn’t mean to, dear Grandpapa, only—­only Mamsie will be gone now.”

“Bless your heart, you’ll have Mamsie more than ever,” cried Mr. King heartily.  “Here, you children, tell her.  Polly, we don’t want the water now, she’s come to,” as Polly came rushing in with a glassful.  “Make her understand; I can’t.”

So Polly, setting down her glass, the others crowding around, took up the task of making the piece of news as delightful as possible, and presently Phronsie came out of her despair, to ask questions.

“Are you really and truly very glad, Polly?” she asked.

“Really and truly I am so glad I don’t know what to do,” said Polly, kneeling down by the chair-side.  “Don’t you see we are so much the richer, Phronsie?  We have lost nothing, and we gain Dr. Fisher.  Dear splendid Dr. Fisher!”

“You’ve always wanted to repay Dr. Fisher for his kindness,” said Mr. King, “and now’s your chance, Polly.”

“I guess he’ll get his pay back for his stove,” cried Joel in a burst; “Polly will wait on him, and kill herself doing things for him.”

“And for your new eyes,” sang Phronsie in a pleased way.  “Oh, Polly!” She jumped out of the old gentleman’s lap, and began to dance around the room, softly clapping her hands and exclaiming, “Oh, Polly!”

“Well, now, children,” said Mr. King, as the excitement ran low, “you just run and tell your mother, every one of you, how happy she will make you by bringing Dr. Fisher here as your father.  Scamper, now!”

No need to urge them.  On the wings of the wind ran the five Peppers up into Mamsie’s own room.  Mrs. Pepper for once turning aside from the claim of her pressing duties, was standing by the work table.  Here stood the mending basket before her, piled to the brim with the weekly installment of stockings big and little, clamoring for attention.  But the usually busy needle lay idle, and the busier hands were folded, as the mother-heart went over the words she knew were being rehearsed downstairs by the kind friend who had made a home for them.  He was pleading her cause with her children.

“They shall be happy, anyway,” she said softly to herself, “bless their hearts!” as they burst in.

“Mother,” said Ben—­How the boy’s cheek glowed!  And what a world of joy rang in the usually quiet tones!—­“we want to thank you for giving us Dr. Fisher for a father.”

“Mamsie,” Polly hid her happy face on the dear neck, “I’ve always loved him, you know; oh!  I’m so glad.”

Joel whooped out something incoherent, but his face told the words, while Davie clasped one of the firm, closely folded hands.