"Oh, do come," cried Phronsie, who thought everything most delightfully conspiring to make her friend remain. "Dear Grandpapa will love you, little girl; come with Polly and me."
She took hold of her other arm, and Rag, seeing no way out of it and wholly bewildered, suffered herself to be led up to the grand mansion.
"Bless me; what have we here?" Old Mr. King, enjoying a morning constitutional on the big veranda, looked over his spectacles, which he had forgotten to remove as he had just thrown down the morning paper in a chair, and stared in amazement at the three children coming over the lawn.
"My poor little girl, Grandpapa," announced Phronsie, releasing the arm she clung to, and tumbling up over the steps, "and please make her stay, and I'm going to let her take Clorinda," and she plunged breathlessly into the old gentleman's arms.
"Hoity-toity, child!" exclaimed old Mr. King, holding her closely. "Well, what have we here?"—as Polly led Rag up on to the veranda.
"I don't know, Grandpapa," said Polly, still keeping tight hold of the arm in its tattered sleeve.
"It seems to be a little girl," said Grandpapa, peering at the stranger.
"Yes, it's my little girl," said Phronsie happily, "and she's come to play with me, Grandpapa."
"Oh, my goodness me!" exclaimed Mr. King, stepping backward and drawing
Phronsie closer.
"I ain't come. She brung me," said the girl, pointing with a thumb over at Polly; "tain't my fault; she made me."