"Pippin—what?"
"Pippin Nix—what I would say, it's all the name I've got. Not bein' acquainted with my parents—you see—"
"I see! It seems a curious name—The point is this. Mrs. Faulkner and I think we know—"
"Think we may possibly know!" struck in Mrs. Faulkner, speaking for the first time, and then shutting her mouth with a snap as if she feared a word too much might escape.
"—May possibly know," Mrs. Appleby corrected herself, "the girl you are looking for."
"Green grass! Is that so?" Pippin smote his thigh, was confounded, and asked pardon, all in a breath.
Mrs. Faulkner bent severe brows on him, and Pippin reflected what a blessing it was Mrs. Baxter didn't ever look like that.
"We keep in touch with our girls," Mrs. Appleby continued, "till they marry or reach the age of twenty-five. The young woman we have now in mind is eighteen years old, and a very fine girl."
"Gee! Ain't that great? Where'll I find her, lady?"