"Are you a stranger?"

"No, I'm your baby-sitter."

"Now can I let her in, Mommy?"

"Yes, sweetheart. That was very good."

At last the door opened. I stepped inside and took off my coat. Both Mrs. P. and Jenny were all dressed up. Mrs. P. looked exactly as if she were off to a fancy tea. But Jenny seemed a bit overdressed for an afternoon of stories and games and fun. She was wearing a frilly white dress trimmed with yards of lavender lace and ribbon, matching lavender socks, and shiny black patent leather Mary Janes. Her hair had been curled, and was pulled back from either side of her face by barrettes from which long streamers flowed. Really, her mother ought to just pose her in a display case somewhere.

"Hello, Mary Anne/' Mrs. P. greeted me.

"Hi," I replied. "Hi, Jenny."

Jenny looked wistfully at the blue jean skirt I was wearing. "I like your skirt, Mary Anne," she said.

"Now, Jenny," Mrs. P. said briskly, "it's a very pretty skirt, I'm sure, but not as pretty as my little angel in her brand-new dress!" She pulled Jenny to her and covered her with loud kisses. "Who's my little angel?" she asked.

Jenny's face was smushed up against her mother's arm. "Mmmphh," she said.

Mrs. P. tried again. "Who's my little angel?"

Jenny drew away from her. "I am, Mommy."

"And what are you made of?"

"Sugar 'n' spice 'n' all that's nice."

Gag, gag. I remembered another nursery rhyme. That one went, "There was a little girl who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead; when she was good she was very, very good, and when she was bad she was horrid."

"Isn't our angel pretty today?" Mrs. Prez-zioso asked me.

Our angel? "Yes, she sure is," I replied.

Jenny smiled sweetly.

"All right, I'm ready, Madeleine," boomed a voice from the stairs. Mr. P. came thundering down from the second floor.