she's mine now."

"Haven't you ever had a child?" asked Phronsie, suddenly, two or three
tears trailing off her round cheeks to drop in the grass, and she drew a
long breath and winked very fast to keep the others back.

"Not a smitch of one," declared the other girl decidedly, "an' I'm a-goin'
to hold this one, and pretend I'm its mother."

Phronsie drew a long breath, and drew slowly near.

"You may," she said at last.

The new mother didn't hear, being hungrily engaged in smoothing her child's
cheeks against her own dirty ones, first one side of the face and then the
other, and twitching down the dainty pink gown, gone awry during the
hugging process, and alternately scolding and patting the little figure.
This done, she administered a smart slap, plunged over to the nearest tree,
and set the doll with a thud on the grass to rest against its trunk.

"Sit up like a lady," she commanded.

"Oh, don't!" cried Phronsie, quite horror-stricken, and running over on
distressed feet. "She's my child," she gasped.

"No, she's mine, an' I'm teachin' her manners. I ain't through pretendin'
yet," said the girl. She put out a long arm and held Phronsie back.

"But you struck her." Phronsie lifted a pale face, and her blue eyes
flashed very much as Polly's brown ones did on occasion.