by Margaret Sidney (Author)

I wish, said Phronsie slowly, "that you'd come in, little girl." "Can't." The girl at the gate peered through the iron railings, pressing her nose quite flat, to give the sharp, restless, black eyes the best chance. "Please do," begged Phronsie, coming up quite close; "I very much wish you would." "Can't," repeated the girl on the outside. "Cop won't let me." "Who?" asked Phronsie, much puzzled and beginning to look frightened. "Perlice." The girl nodded briefly, taking her face away from the iron railings enough to accomplish that ceremony. Then she plastered her nose up against its support again, and stared at Phronsie with all her might. "Oh," said Phronsie, with a little laugh that chased away her fright," there isn't any big policeman here. This is Grandpapa's garden."