Annie pulled her up on her lap. “Well, now, you stay here with me, if you please, till your papa or your hat comes after you.”
“My—hat—can't—come—after—me!” said the child, turning back her head, so as to laugh her sense of the joke in Annie's face.
“No matter; your papa can, and I'm going to keep you.”
Idella let her head fall back against Annie's breast, and began to finger the rings on the hand which Annie laid across her lap to keep her.
“For goodness gracious!” said Mrs. Savor, “who you got there, Miss Kilburn?”
“Mr. Peck's little girl.”
“Where'd she spring from?”
Mrs. Gerrish leaned forward and spoke across the six legs of her children, who were all three standing up in their chairs: “You don't mean to say that's Idella Peck? Where's her father?”
“Somewhere, she says,” said Annie, willing to answer Mrs. Gerrish with the child's nonchalance.
“Well, that's great!” said Mrs. Gerrish. “I should think he better be looking after her—or some one.”