Five Little Peppers and their Friends | Page 6

quirking out her little
finger with grace; and poising the tin coffeepot with an elegant air, she
inverted it over a cracked cup, which, when generously full of water,
she passed to her guest. "Help yourself to th' cakes. Lady Fonsie," she
said graciously, "an' what beyewtiful weather we are havin'!"
Phronsie put forth a trembling hand, as it seemed to be expected of her,
and took the cup of water, spilling about half of it, which ran off the
table-edge and down her little brown gown, the Dukess greeting this
mishap with a shout of laughter, checking it suddenly with a start and a
dismayed glance in the direction of the broken window.
"It's time fer you to talk some," she said. "You should say, 'Yes, I think
so, too.'"
"I think so, too," murmured Phronsie, viewing her cup of milk gravely.
"An' you must say, 'I think, Dukess, you have the most splendid milk.'"
"It isn't milk," said Phronsie gravely, and she turned serious eyes on the
lady of quality opposite.
"Oh, yes, it is," said the Dukess, "an' you orter go on an' say, 'An' all
them perfectly beyewtiful flowers, I never see any so fine!'"--pointing
to the empty spools in between the eatables.
"But they aren't flowers," said Phronsie.
This occasioned so much discussion that there was no lack of
conversation, and was the reason that steps over the stairway were not
heard. The door was thrown open, and an old, stout, sodden woman, in

a dirty, green shawl and battered bonnet stood transfixed with
amazement in the entrance. She hadn't a pleasant eye beneath her
straggling, white hair, and her first words were not altogether agreeable
nor appropriate at five-o'clock tea.
"So this is the way," she said gruffly, "when I sends you out, Rag, to
pick up somethin' you eat me out o' house an' home with brats you
bring in"; for she hadn't seen through the dirt on Phronsie's face and
clothes what manner of child was present.
The Dukess twitched off the nightcap, and sprang up, upsetting the tin
coffeepot, which rolled away by itself, and put herself over by Phronsie,
covering her from view. In passing, she had grasped the doll off from
the barrel and hidden her in the folds of her tattered gown with a quick,
sharp thrust.
"'Tain't nothin' 'f I do have some fun once in a while, Gran," she
grumbled. She pinched Phronsie's arm. "Keep still." And while the old
woman swayed across the room, for she wasn't quite free from the
effects of a taste from a bottle under her arm, which she couldn't resist
trying before she reached home, Phronsie and Rag were working their
way over toward the door.
"Stop!" roared the old woman at them, in a fury, and she held up the
nightcap. Involuntarily Rag paused, through sheer force of habit, and
stood paralyzed, till her grandmother had come quite close.
"Hey, what have we got here?" She eyed Phronsie sharply. "Oh, well,
you ain't acted so badly after all; maybe the pretty little lady has come
to see me, hey?" and she seized Phronsie's small arm.
"Gran," cried Rag hoarsely, waking up from her unlucky paralysis, "let
her go; only let her go, an' I'll--I'll do anythin' you want me to. I'll steal,
an' pick an' fetch, and do anything Gran."
The old woman leered at her, and passed her hand to the beads on
Phronsie's neck; and in doing so she let the little arm slip, that she
might use both hands to undo the clasp the better. One second of

time--but Rag, knowing quite well what could be done in it, seized
Phronsie, rushed outside, slammed the door, and was down over the
rickety stairs in a twinkling, through the dirty courtyard and
alley--which luckily had few spectators, and those thought she was
carrying a neighbor's child--around a corner, darting here and there, till
presently she set Phronsie down, and drew a long breath,
"Oh, my eye!" she panted, "but wasn't that a close shave, though!"

II
PHRONSIE
"There now, here you are!" There was a little click in the girl's throat.
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