Phronsie got down very softly, and tiptoed over to the stair-railing to grasp the letter Mrs. Higby thrust between the bars, going back to her old post, to open it carefully.
DEAR PHRONSIE:
I think God meant that I was to have Johnny for my very own. So won't you give him to me, dear? Let Charlotte bring him soon, please, for my heart is hungry for a baby to hold. I will make him happy all my life, Phronsie, so I know you will give him to
HELEN'S MOTHER.
CHAPTER XVI.
ON THE BORDERLAND.
Phronsie came into the Higby kitchen, her hands full of wind-blossoms and nodding trilliums.
"Pickering will like these," she said to herself in great satisfaction, and surveying her torn frock with composure, "for they are the very first, Mrs. Higby," addressing that individual standing over by the sink in the corner. "Please may I wash my hands? I had to go clear far down by the brook to get them."
But Mrs. Higby, instead of answering, threw her brown-checked apron high over her head.
Phronsie stood quite still.