ried Dr. Fisher, coming in about a quarter of an hour later
to find her tugging laboriously at the buttons--"new shoes! I declare!"

"My own!" cried Phronsie, sticking out one foot for inspection, where
every button was in the wrong button-hole, "and they've got red tops,
too!"

"So they have," said the doctor, getting down on the floor beside her;
"beautiful red tops, aren't they?"

"Be-yew-ti-ful," sang the child delightedly.

"Does Polly have new shoes every day?" asked the doctor in a low voice,
pretending to examine the other foot.

Phronsie opened her eyes very wide at this.

"Oh, no, she don't have anything, Polly don't."

"And what does Polly want most of all--do you know? see if you can tell
me." And the doctor put on the most alluring expression that he could
muster.

"Oh, I know!" cried Phronsie, with a very wise look. "There now," cried
the doctor, "you're the girl for me! to think you know! so, what is it?"

Phronsie got up very gravely, and with one shoe half on, she leaned over
and whispered in the doctor's ear:

"A stove!"

"A what?" said the doctor, looking at her, and then at the old, black
thing in the corner, that looked as if it were ashamed of itself; "why,
she's got one."

"Oh," said the child, "it won't burn; and sometimes Polly cries, she
does, when she's all alone--and I see her."

"Now," said the doctor, very sympathetically, "that's too bad; that is!
and then what does she do?"

"Oh, Ben stuffs it up," said the child, laughing; "and so does Polly
too, with paper; and then it all tumbles out quick; oh! just as quick!"
And Phronsie shook her yellow head at the dismal remembrance.

"Do you suppose," said the doctor, getting up, "that you know of any
smart little girl around here, about four years old and that knows how
to button on her own red-topped shoes, that would like to go to ride
to-morrow morning in my carriage with me?

"Oh, I do!" cried Phronsie, hopping on one toe; "it's me!"

"Very well, then," said Dr. Fisher, going to the bedroom door, "we'll
lookout for to-morrow, then."

To poor Polly, lying in the darkened room, or sitting up in the big
rocking-chair--for Polly wasn't really very sick in other respects,
the disease having all gone into the merry brown eyes--the time seemed
interminable. Not to do anything! The very idea at any time would have
filled her active, wide-awake little body with horror; and now, here she
was!

"Oh, dear, I can't bear it!" she s