Miss Sally Scrannage turned her large face and looked at him. Wasn’t she a Scrannage of Hingham, Jabez Scrannage’s daughter? and was she going to be put down that way, even if this was the great Mr. King, and he worth his millions? She set down her teacup, and gathered up the crumbs of cake carefully in a little heap in her napkin before she was ready to open her mouth. Phronsie stepped softly out of the group, and going up to the two old ladies, she laid her hand gently on the big, square shoulder, “Don’t you understand, dear Miss Scrannage,” she said, “that we are all so anxious to know at once, just as soon as we possibly can, when you first saw the children. Their poor mother cannot bear to wait.”
Miss Sally followed the hand that pointed to Polly. When she saw the tears on the cheek usually so bright, her own face softened, and her battle feathers, so to speak, drooped. “And I’ll tell you quick’s I can, my dear,” she said, “seein’ you ask so pretty. But I ain’t accustomed to be spoke to like a dog, an’ ordered ’round, you know. Let’s see; ’twas after we’d got by the Hammatt place, Belindy, warn’t it, when we saw Abiel Babbidge driv up by the side o’ the road, an’ he a-settin’ still, an’ his horse not movin’ a hoof, an’ sez I—you remember what I sez, Belindy, says I”—
“Did Mr. Babbidge have the children in his wagon?” asked Phronsie, still standing by her side.
“Yes, he did; we was quite a piece by the Hammatt place.”
“A good piece,” said Miss Belinda.
“Yes, just as I say, a good piece.”
“How far is the Hammatt place from here? Ask her, Phronsie,” said old Mr. King.
“How many miles do you think the Hammatt place is from here, Miss Scrannage?” asked Phronsie.
“Well, I d’no. It might be six mile, and then again it might be five. I hain’t heard folks say.”
“Never mind,” said Mr. King.