"She's my little girl," interrupted Phronsie.
"Well, if she stays here, she must be washed and have on clean clothes. So
Sarah has taken her, and is going to fix her all up nice."
"Oh—oh!" cried Phronsie, in a transport, "and can she have some of Polly's clothes, Mamsie?"
"Yes, I guess so. Anyway, we will fix her up all nicely."
"And may she stay here for ever and ever," cried Phronsie, "and not go back to that un-nice old lady? Please, Mamsie, don't let her go back," she pleaded.
Over the yellow hair the old gentleman had found out and communicated several things back and forth. One was, "I don't think she is the child's own grandmother." "Mr. Cabot can investigate," and so on.
"What are you whispering about?" at last asked Phronsie.
"Nothing that you should know, dear. Now I'm going to put you in Grandpapa's lap, Phronsie. You must be a good girl," and Mother Pepper went off.
"You must take care of me, Phronsie," said the old gentleman, "for I really think I need it now. And I guess my hair does want to be smoothed, after all."
"I'll stay and take care of you, Grandpapa," said Phronsie, delighted that her services were really to be called for, and with her heart at rest about her own poor little girl.