"Polly wants cracker!" declared the bird, flapping his wings and doing a funny little dance on his perch.
"Be still!" commanded Miss Peckham. With her sharp little black eyes she glanced from Janice to the other woman. "This is the girl," she said.
Janice, feeling as though she was under some important scrutiny looked at the second woman in curiosity. She found her a not unpleasant looking person. She was much wrinkled, yet her cheeks were rather pink and her lips very vivid. Janice wondered if it was possible that this color was put on by hand.
The woman sat in a rocking chair with her long hands folded idly in her lap. On the hands were white "half mits"—something Janice knew were long out of fashion but which were once considered very stylish indeed.
The woman's eyes were a shallow brown color—perhaps "faded" would be a better expression. It seemed as though she were too languid even to look with attention at any one or anything.
"This is the girl, Sophrony," Miss Peckham repeated more sharply.
"Oh, yes," murmured the strange woman, as though awakened from a brown study. "Yes. Quite a pretty little girl."
"Pretty is as pretty does," scoffed Miss Peckham. "At any rate, she's healthy. Ain't you, Janice Day?"
"Ah—oh—yes, ma'am!" stammered Janice, "I guess I am."
"Well, I don't see the doctor going to your house none," said Miss Peckham, in her snappy way. "I guess I would ha' seen him if he'd called."