It took but a moment for Polly's swift feet to follow, but none too soon, for the thin little face with the sharp, black eyes was withdrawn, and the flapping old shoes were beating a hasty retreat. But Polly was after her, and her hand was on her arm, and the first thing the stranger knew she was drawn within the big gateway, Phronsie circling around her with great satisfaction.
"She did come, Polly, she did."
"Lemme be. I warn't doin' nothin' but peekin'," said the girl, trying to wriggle away from Polly's grasp. But Polly held on.
"Don't be frightened; there isn't any one going to hurt you. What's your name, little girl?"
"She's my little girl," insisted Phronsie, trying to get hold of the thin little hand, which was less grimy than usual.
"What's your name?" asked Polly again.
"Rag," said the girl, in a burst.
"Rag? Oh, dear me!" said Polly.
"Lemme go. I hain't done no harm. Gran'll be wantin' me."
"Who?"