Poor Jenny doesn't seem to be the prim, fastidious type at all. Neither does Mr. P. When I'm around him, I usually have the feeling that he'd rather be dozing in front of the TV in

overalls, a T-shirt, and mismatched socks. And Jenny tries hard, but she just isn't what her mother wants her to be.

Mrs. P. and I chatted for a minute or so and then got down to business. "I know this is last-minute, dear," she said, "but I need a sitter for Sunday afternoon. Mr. Prezzioso and I have been invited to a tea."

"What time does it start?" I asked.

"Four o'clock. I should think we'd be home by six or six-thirty."

"Okay, I'll be there."

"That's wonderful, dear. Thank you. I'll see you at four. Good-bye!"

I hung up the phone thoughtfully. The afternoon at the Prezziosos' could be pretty interesting.

On Sunday afternoon I rang the Prezziosos' doorbell promptly at 3:30. Jenny came flying to answer it. I could hear her calling hello and fiddling with the locks. After a few moments, she pulled it open — but the chain was still attached. CRACK!

"Jenny!" a voice exclaimed behind her. "Did you ask who was there before you opened the door?"

"No, Mommy."

"Well, what are you supposed to do when the doorbell rings?"

"Say, 'Who is it?' "

"Then please do that." The door closed. The locks slid back into place.

"Mary Anne," Mrs. Prezzioso called, "would you mind ringing the bell again, please?"

I sighed. Ding-dong.

"Who is it?" asked Jenny's voice.

"It's me, Mary Anne Spier."