"I didn't investigate," he said, laughing. "I'll leave that to you,
Polly."

"Well, it's funny anyway," she said, "that all the women and girls
dress alike in those queer gowns in two parts, and those embroidered
jackets over their waists, and those caps and horrible pot-hooks and
long curls."

"It's well that we've got so many pictures, for the people at home
would never believe our stories without them."

"And these houses," continued Polly, squinting up at a crooked row,
"all colours--green stripes and black stripes--and, O dear me! Jasper
King, just look at Phronsie!"

Jasper followed the direction of Polly's finger. There sat Phronsie on
a grassy bank a little above them, with one of the fattest Marken
babies in her lap. A variegated group of natives was near by, watching
her intently. But Phronsie didn't appear to notice them.

"Polly, I wish we had a baby just like this," sighed Phronsie, giving
motherly pats to the stout little legs dangling down from her lap.

"Come, children,"--Grandpapa emerged from the little old house,--"we
must hurry on, else we sha'n't get through this island. Come, Phronsie
--goodness me!" as he saw how she was occupied.

"May I carry her?" begged Phronsie, staggering to her feet--"she's
mine"--and dragging the Marken baby up with her.