better to wait for you and
see what you could find out."

"You will keep them, will you not?"

"I don't know. We will if I can do as I want you know the board--"

"Yes, I know the board," said Josie with, a smile.

"Sometimes they are great on rules and regulations, and one of our
rules is that we must know where the children come from and who they
are so we can hand over a record to the persons who are desirous of
adopting them."

"I guess that is a pretty good rule, but it should work both ways. I
must say I think the ones who do the adopting should have better
recommendations than the poor kiddies. If they don't like the children
they can bring them back, but the poor babies have to stay put whether
they like the adopters or not. Where would these children go if you
can't keep them?"

"The poorhouse, I think! You see, the orphan asylums are run by
churches and usually take only the children whose parents were of their
religious convictions. These children are too old for a foundling's
home. But I do hope we may be allowed to keep them here."

Josie found the children in the parlor, huddled together on the sofa, a
forlorn pair. At their feet was the same bumpy bundle of clothes.

"We comed back," the boy said. "Where is the story-telling lady? The
reason we comed back was because I thought she'd be here, too. Cousin
Dink told us she'd be here."

"Well, so she will," said Josie. "Where is Cousin Dink?" she asked
Polly.

"I don't know and I don't care one bit," said Polly, without meaning to
be pert but simply declaring the truth.

"But did she not bring you here?"

"No ma'm! She yanked us out of bed this morning and made us dress just
as fast as we could and then she pulled us out in the street--"

"Did you have no breakfast?"

"I had a pickle and Peter had a cream puff she forgot to eat last
night. I was awful 'fraid it might give him the tummy ache because
cream puffs are mighty poor breakfast eatin's, 'specially when they are
left-overs, but Peter has powerful tough insides. I believe he can eat
almost anything."

"And how about you? Doesn't a pickle for breakfast make you feel kind
of queer?"

"Oh, my insides are even better than Peter's. The pickle was just the
thing because it kept me from wanting anything else."

"Well, I tell you what we are going to do: we are going around the
corner to a nice little place and have some breakfast. You can just
leave your bundle here," she said, as Polly