“Oh, it’s mine,—my baby,” cried Phronsie, pushing back her yellow hair to look up in Polly’s face; “it’s my very own baby.”
“Well, never mind,” said Polly; “it can be your baby, Phronsie, but you see I’ve got to take care of it. Oh, the key, Mamsie, it’s in my pocket.”
“I’ll get it out,” said Mrs. Pepper, running her hand in Polly’s pocket, and drawing out the big key she unlocked the green door, and they all went in, Doctor Fisher peering around his old gig to watch them as he drove off.
“The first thing,” said Mrs. Pepper, with emphasis, “we must do, is to wash that baby, Polly.”
“Isn’t it,” cried Polly, with delight at the prospect; while Phronsie screamed, “Oh, I’m going to do it, I am!”
“So I’ll get the tub all ready,” said Mrs. Pepper, going into the bedroom to take off her things, and to make preparations for this new piece of work.
“Oh, Mamsie, I’m going to get the tub ready,” declared Polly, hurrying after her.
“No, no,” said Mrs. Pepper, with a glance at the face of the dirty little creature hanging on Polly’s arm. “You’d better let me, Polly; she’s used to you, now, and you must keep her for a while, else she’ll cry.”
Meantime, Mrs. Pepper was pulling out the tin bath-tub, Phronsie hurrying over every movement in the greatest excitement and begging to help.
“You can get the soap, Phronsie,” said Mother Pepper, bringing in the tea-kettle from the stove. “It’s good you filled it up, Polly,” she said approvingly, as she poured in the boiling-hot water to the tin tub.