"No, I think Phronsie ought to," said Polly, shaking her head.
"I want Polly to," said Phronsie, wriggling away from the pen that Polly held out alluringly.
"But Polly wants you to," said Jasper. "I really would, Phronsie dear, to please her."
To please Polly, being what Phronsie longed for next to pleasing Mamsie, she gave a small sigh and took the pen in unsteady fingers.
"Wait a minute, Phronsie!" exclaimed Polly, in dismay, "I believe we've made a mistake, Jasper, and got the wrong sheet." And Polly turned off with him to examine the rest of the paper.
Phronsie, who hadn't heard what Polly said, her small head being full of the responsibility of beginning the important letter, and considering, since it was to be done, it was best to have it over with as soon as possible, fell to scribbling the letters as fast as she could, all of them running down hill.
"Well, I'm glad to see that we haven't made any mistake," cried Polly, turning back in relief. "Oh, Phronsie, you haven't begun!"
She spoke so sharply that Phronsie started, and a little drop of ink trembling on the point of her pen concluded to hop off. So it did and jumped down on the clean white paper to stare up at them all like a very bad black eye.
"Oh, see what she's written!" cried Polly, quite aghast, and tumbling into her chair, she pointed at the top.
"Deer Mister Erl," scrawled clear across the top.
"I didn't--mean--oh, you said do it, Polly." Phronsie threw herself out of her chair, and over into Polly's lap, burrowing and wailing piteously.
"O dear me, how could I say anything?" cried Polly, overcome with remorse and patting Phronsie's yellow hair; "but it is so very dreadful. O dear me! Phronsie, there, there, don't cry. O dear me!"
Tom's mouth trembled. "It's all right. Granddaddy'll like it," he said.
"Oh, Tom Selwyn," gasped Polly, looking up over Phronsie's head, "you don't suppose we'd let that letter go."
"I would," said Tom, coolly, running his hands in his pockets. "I tell you, you don't know my granddaddy. He's got lots of fun in him," he added.
"Phronsie," said Jasper, rushing around the table, "you are making Polly sick. Just look at her face."
Phronsie lifted her head where she had burrowed it under Polly's arm. When she saw that Polly's round cheeks were really quite pale, she stopped crying at once. "Are you sick, Polly?" she asked, in great concern.