Phronsie looked up.
"Yes, and your child, too." Clorinda and all her pink loveliness was thrust
into her own little mother's arms, and the sharp, black eyes peered down
upon the two. "I've brung you home, and you're on your own grassplot,
same's you were." Still she stood in her tracks.
"I'm sorry I brung you to my house; but you've had a five-o'clock tea, and
now you're home, an' got your child." Still she did not stir.
"Well, I've got to go. Say, don't you call no one, nor tell no one, till
I've had time to shake my feet down street." She thrust out one flapping
shoe, then the other, gave a scornful laugh, and brushed her hand across
the sharp eyes. "Promise now, black and blue, 'I promise true, hope to die
if I do'. Hurry up! Do you promise?" she cried sharply.
"Yes," said Phronsie, hugging Clorinda tightly.
"All right. Now for Gran!" She shut her teeth tightly and was off and
through the big gateway.
"I've got my child," said Phronsie, putting up a sleepy hand to pat
Clorinda's head, but it fell to her side, while her yellow hair slipped
closer over her flushed cheek. She tried to say, "Clorinda, we've got home,
and my foots are tired," swayed, held her child tighter to her bosom, and
over she went in a heap, fast asleep before her head touched the soft
grass.
Polly Pepper, hurrying home from Alexia's, ran in by the gateway, and down
by a short cut over the grass, her feet keeping time to a merry air that
had possessed her all the afternoon.
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