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a moment for Polly's swift feet to follow, but none too soon, for the thin little face with the sharp, black eyes was withdrawn, and the flapping old shoes were beating a hasty retreat.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 shiver, 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.

"It seems to be a little girl," said Grandpapa, peering at the stranger.

"Yes, it's my little girl," said Phronsie happily, "and she's come to play with me, Grandpapa."

"Oh, my goodness me!" exclaimed Mr. King, stepping backward and drawing Phronsie closer.

"I ain't come. _She_ brung me," said the girl, pointing with a thumb over at Polly; "tain't my fault; she made me."

"Polly, what is all this?" asked the old gentleman perplexedly, staring at one and the other.

"I don't know, Grandpapa," said Polly, the little white line still around her mouth; "she says Phronsie has been at her house, and----"

"_Phronsie been at her house!_" thundered the old gentleman.

"Yes, she has. An' I give her a five-o'clock tea," cried Rag, in a burst, who, thinking that she was probably now going to be killed, began to take pleasure in telling all she knew. "Swell folks does; I seen 'em plenty of times on th' avenoo, an' here, too"--she nodded toward the long French windows--"an' I got as good a right, I guess. An' she let me take her doll, an' I like her. An' we had an orful good time till Gran came in, an' then we lit out, an' I brung her home. Now what you goin' to do about it?" She folded her thin arms as well as she could, for Polly was still holding to one, and glared defiantly out of her sharp, black eyes.

"Oh, Grandpapa, her arms!" Polly was pointing to the long, red welts.

Rag turned as if shot, and twitched the ragged sleeves down, tucking the free arm behind her back. "Lemme go, you girl: you hain't no right to see 'em, it's none o' your business," she screamed at Polly. Old Mr. King had sunk into a chair. Phronsie, in his lap, was so busy in putting her face close to his, and telling him that it was really her own poor little girl, that she had failed to see the arms and the disclosures they had made.

"Go and get your mother," he said, after a breathing s.p.a.ce. "Oh, stay! I can't hold her"--with a gesture of disgust.

"An' you ain't a-goin' to tetch me," declared Rag proudly; "no, sir-ee!"

"Well, Phronsie, you jump down and go and get your mother," Mr. King whispered, smoothing her yellow hair with a trembling hand.

"I will--I will," she cried gleefully, hopping out of his lap.

"Oh, don't send her away." All the defiance dropped out of Rag's face and manner, and she whimpered miserably. "She's th' only nice one there is here. Don't let her go."

"She's coming right back, little girl," said old Mr. King kindly. He even smiled. But the girl had hung her head, so she didn't see it, and she blubbered on.

"I'll bring Mamsie to see my poor little girl," Phronsie kept saying to herself over and over, as she scuttled off, and in a very few minutes Mother Fisher was out on the veranda in obedience to old Mr. King's summons.

"It's beyond me"--the old gentleman waved his hand at Rag--"you'll have to unravel it, Mrs. Fisher. Here, Phronsie, get up in my lap." He strained her so tightly to him, as Phronsie hopped into her accustomed nest, that she looked up.

"Oh, Grandpapa!" she exclaimed.

"Did I hurt you, child?" he said, in a broken voice.

"A little, Grandpapa dear," she said.

"Well--oh, Lord bless me! I can't talk, child," he finished brokenly.

"Are you sick, Grandpapa?" she asked, sitting straight to look at him anxiously. "Does your head ache? I'll smooth it for you," and she began to pat his white hair.

"Oh, no, child, my head doesn't ache. There, sit still, dear, that's all I want." So Phronsie cuddled up within his arms, feeling quite sure that now Mamsie had her own poor little girl, everything would be all right.