"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.
"I've never been whipped," she said slowly.
"Oh, my Lord!" The girl tumbled down to the grass and rolled over and over,
coming up suddenly to sit straight, wipe her tangled black hair out of her
eyes, and stare at Phronsie. "Well, you are a reg'lar freak, you are," was
all she could say.
"What's a 'freak'?" asked Phronsie, actually turning her back on her child
to give all her attention to this absorbing conversation, with its most
attractive vocabulary.
"It's--oh, Jumbo!" and over she flopped again, to roll and laugh. "Well,
there!" and she jumped to her feet so quickly she nearly overthrew
Phronsie, who had drawn closer, unable to miss a bit of this very strange
proceeding.
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