Part 1 (2/2)
”Can't,” the girl was going to say, but her gaze rested upon the doll lying on the gra.s.s where it fell from Phronsie's hand. ”Lawks! may I just have one good squint at that?” she burst out.
”You may hold it,” said Phronsie, bobbing her head till her yellow hair fell over her flushed cheeks.
The gate flew open suddenly, nearly overthrowing her; and the girl, mostly all legs and arms, dashed through, picking up the doll to squeeze it to her neck so tightly that Phronsie rushed up, quite alarmed.
”Oh, don't,” she cried, ”you'll frighten her. I'll tell her how it is, and then she'll like you.”
”I'll make her like me,” said the girl, with savage thrusts at the doll, and kissing it all over.
”Oh, my, ain't you sweet!” and she cuddled it fiercely in her scrawny neck, her tangled black hair falling around its face.
”Oh, dear!” wailed Phronsie, standing quite still, ”she's my child, and she's dreadfully frightened. Oh, please, little girl, don't do so.”
”She's been your child forever, and I've never had a child.” The girl raised her black head to look sternly at Phronsie. ”I'll give her back; but she's mine now.”
”Haven't you ever had a child?” asked Phronsie, suddenly, two or three tears trailing off her round cheeks to drop in the gra.s.s, and she drew a long breath and winked very fast to keep the others back.
”Not a smitch of one,” declared the other girl decidedly, ”an' I'm a-goin'
to hold this one, and pretend I'm its mother.”
Phronsie drew a long breath, and drew slowly near.
”You may,” she said at last.
The new mother didn't hear, being hungrily engaged in smoothing her child's cheeks against her own dirty ones, first one side of the face and then the other, and twitching down the dainty pink gown, gone awry during the hugging process, and alternately scolding and patting the little figure.
This done, she administered a smart slap, plunged over to the nearest tree, and set the doll with a thud on the gra.s.s to rest against its trunk.
”Sit up like a lady,” she commanded.
”Oh, don't!” cried Phronsie, quite horror-stricken, and running over on distressed feet. ”She's my child,” she gasped.
”No, she's mine, an' I'm teachin' her manners. I ain't through pretendin'
yet,” said the girl. She put out a long arm and held Phronsie back.
”But you struck her.” Phronsie lifted a pale face, and her blue eyes flashed very much as Polly's brown ones did on occasion.
The new mother whirled around and stared at her.
”Why, I had to, just the same as you're licked when you're bad,” she said, in astonishment.
”What's 'licked'?” asked Phronsie, overcome with curiosity, yet keeping her eyes on her child, bolt upright against the tree.
”Why, whipped,” said the girl, ”just the same as you are when you're bad.”
Phronsie drew a long breath.
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