“But haven’t you been locked up?” Phœbe wanted to know; “and in a room without a bed?”
“Aw, well,” returned Manila, philosophically, “you betcha I wouldn’t let Mrs. Botts know I cared.”
When the rear gate leading to the Blair house was reached, Manila began to hang back. “Wisht I didn’t come,” she declared.
“Wha-a-at?” Phœbe stopped short.
“I’m scairt,” confided Manila.
“Scared nothing!” Phœbe said stoutly, slamming the gate behind them. “You’re with us now.”
“Mrs. Botts told me, ‘Don’t you budge’.”
“You don’t have to mind her any more. After this you mind just me.”
“She won’t let me.”
“She can’t help herself. Because I’m going to adopt you. You’re going to be—let me see! I don’t know which, my sister or my daughter.”