"Yes, yes," cried Phronsie, perfectly delighted at being at last
understood, and hopping on one toe; "my sick man."

"I shall give up!" said Polly, tumbling over in a chair, with the cake
spoon in her hand, from which a small sticky lump fell on her
apron, which Joel immediately pounced upon and devoured.
"What do you want to bake, Phronsie?" she gasped, holding the
spoon sticking up straight, and staring at the child.

"A gingerbread boy," said the child, promptly; "he'd like that best;
poor, sick man!" and she commenced to climb up to active
preparations.

A LETTER TO JASPER

"Mamsie, what shall we do?" implored Polly of her mother.

"I don't know," said her mother; "however did that get into her
head, do you suppose?"

"I am sure I can't tell," said Polly, jumping up and beginning to stir
briskly to make up for lost time. "P'r'aps she heard us talking about
Jasper's having to take care of his sick father, and how hard it must
be to he sick away from home."

"Yes," said Phronsie, "but he'll be glad to see my gingerbread boy,
I guess; poor, sick man."

"Oh, Phronsie," cried Polly, in great distress, "you aren't ever going
to make a 'gingerbread boy' to-day! see, we'll put in a cunning little