Part 10 (1/2)

It took but a moment for Polly's swift feet to follow, but none too soon, for the thin little face with the sharp, black eyes was withdrawn, and the flapping old shoes were beating a hasty retreat. But Polly was after her, and her hand was on her arm, and the first thing the stranger knew she was drawn within the big gateway, Phronsie circling around her with great satisfaction.

”She _did_ come, Polly, she did.”

”Lemme be. I warn't doin' nothin' but peekin',” said the girl, trying to wriggle away from Polly's grasp. But Polly held on.

”Don't be frightened; there isn't any one going to hurt you. What's your name, little girl?”

”She's my little girl,” insisted Phronsie, trying to get hold of the thin little hand, which was less grimy than usual.

”What's your name?” asked Polly again.

”Rag,” said the girl, in a burst.

”Rag? Oh, dear me!” said Polly.

”Lemme go. I hain't done no harm. Gran'll be wantin' me.”

”Who?”

”Gran.” The girl, at that, tried to fold up her arms in the remains of her sleeves. But Polly saw the long, red welts that were not pleasant to look at. She gave a little s.h.i.+ver, but held on firmly to the tattered ends.

”Oh, make her stay,” cried Phronsie; ”I want her to play with me. I'll let you take Clorinda again, and she shall be your child,” she stood up on tiptoe to say.

”Can't,” said the girl, making a desperate effort to twitch away. ”Lemme go.”

”No, you cannot go until you have told me who you are, and how you know my little sister.”

Rag looked into the brown eyes of the little girl not so much older, drew a long breath, then burst out, ”She's visited me to my house,” and, putting on the most defiant expression possible, stood quite still.

_”Visited you at your house!”_ echoed Polly. She nearly dropped the ragged sleeve.

”Yes, an' I give her a five-o'clock tea,” said Rag proudly. ”Any harm in that? An' I brung her home again, and she ain't hurt a bit. You lemme go, you girl, you!”

”You must come and see Grandpapa,” said Polly firmly, a little white line around her mouth.

”I ain't a-goin'.” Rag showed instant fight against any such idea.

”Then, if you don't,” said Polly, gripping her arm, ”I shall call the gardeners, and they will bring you up to the house.”

”Oh, do come,” cried Phronsie, who thought everything most delightfully conspiring to make her friend remain. ”Dear Grandpapa will love you, little girl; come with Polly and me.”

She took hold of her other arm, and Rag, seeing no way out of it and wholly bewildered, suffered herself to be led up to the grand mansion.

”Bless me; what have we here?” Old Mr. King, enjoying a morning const.i.tutional on the big veranda, looked over his spectacles, which he had forgotten to remove as he had just thrown down the morning paper in a chair, and stared in amazement at the three children coming over the lawn.

”My poor little girl, Grandpapa,” announced Phronsie, releasing the arm she clung to, and tumbling up over the steps, ”and please make her stay, and I'm going to let her take Clorinda,” and she plunged breathlessly into the old gentleman's arms.

”Hoity-toity, child!” exclaimed old Mr. King, holding her closely. ”Well, what have we here?”--as Polly led Rag up on to the veranda.

”I don't know, Grandpapa,” said Polly, still keeping tight hold of the arm in its tattered sleeve.