"The boys said as how you was a kind o' pretty lady, with towzly hair in
front." (Shades of my cherished curls!)

"I'm very much obliged to the boys."

"Kin yer take me in?"

"What? Here? Into the Kindergarten?"

"Yes; I bin waitin' this yer long whiles fur to git in."

"Why, my dear little boy," gazing dubiously at his contradictory
countenance, "you're too--big, aren't you? We have only tiny little
people here, you know; not six years old. You are more, aren't you?"

"Well, I'm nine by the book; but I ain't more 'n scerce six along o' my
losing them three year."

"What do you mean, child? How could you _lose_ three years?" cried I,
more and more puzzled by my curious visitor.

"I lost 'em on the back stairs, don't yer know. My father he got
fightin' mad when he was drunk, and pitched me down two flights of 'em,
and my back was most clean broke in two, so I couldn't git out o' bed
forever, till just now."

"Why, poor child, who took care of you?"

"Mother she minded me when she warn't out washin'."