the answer.

A scuffling noise sounded along the passage; and then Polly's soul
sank down in dire dismay. It was the minister's sister, and not
gentle little Mrs. Henderson. She never could get on with Miss
Jerusha in the least. She made her feel as she told her mother
once--"as if I don't know what my name is." And now here she
was; and all those messages.

Miss Jerusha unbolted the door, slid back the great bar, opened the
upper half, and stood there. She was a big woman, with sharp
black eyes, and spectacles--over which she looked--which to Polly
was much worse, for that gave her four eyes.

"Well, and what do you want?" she asked.

"I came to see--I mean my ma sent me," stammered poor Polly.

"And who is your ma?" demanded Miss Jerusha, as much like a
policeman as anything; "and where do you live?"

"I live in Primrose Lane," replied Polly, wishing very much that
she was back there.

"I don't want to know where you live, before I know who you are,"
said Miss Jerusha; "you should answer the question I asked first;
always remember that."

"My ma's Mrs. Pepper," said Polly.