"Is she a luny?" Freckles asked in an awed voice.

Flibbertigibbet was gazing fixedly at this apparition and made no reply.

After watching this pantomime a few minutes, she spoke slowly:

"She's one of the dumb uns; I've seen 'em."

The Marchioness was now making frantic gestures towards the top of their window. She was laughing too.

"She's a lively one if she is a dumber," said Freckles approvingly.

Flibbertigibbet jumped to her feet and likewise stood on the window sill.

"Gee! She wants us to git the window open at the top. Here--pull!" The two children hung their combined weight by the tips of their fingers from the upper sash, and the great window opened slowly a few inches; then it stuck fast. But they both heard the gleeful voice of their opposite neighbor and welcomed the sound.

"I'm talking to you--it's the only way I can--the deaf and dumb--"

The maid lifted her down, struggling, from the window seat, and they heard the childish voice scolding in a tongue unknown to them.

Flibbertigibbet set immediately about earning the right to learn the deaf-and-dumb alphabet; she hung out all monitor Number Twelve's washing--dish towels, stockings, handkerchiefs--every other day for two weeks in the bitter December weather. She knew that this special monitor had a small brother in the Asylum for Deaf Mutes; this girl taught her the strange language in compensation for the child's time and labor. It was mostly "give and take" in the Asylum.

"That child has been angelic lately; I don't know what's going to happen." Long-suffering Sister Agatha heaved a sigh of relief.

"Oh, there is a storm brewing you may be sure; this calm is unnatural,"

Sister Angelica replied, smiling at sight of the little figure in the yard dancing in the midst of an admiring circle of blue-nosed girls. "I believe they would rather stand and watch her than to run about and get warm. She is as much fun for them as a circus, and she learns so quickly! Have you noticed her voice in chapel lately?"

"Yes, I have"; said Sister Agatha grumpily, "and I confess I can't bear to hear her sing like an angel when she is such a little fiend."

Sister Angelica smiled. "Oh, I'm sure she'll come out all right; there's nothing vicious about her, and she's a loyal little soul, you can't deny that."

"Yes, to those she loves," Sister Agatha answered with some bitterness.

She knew she was no favorite with the subject under discussion. "See her now! I shouldn't think she would have a whole bone left in her body."

They were playing "Snap-the-whip". Flibbertigibbet was the snapper for a line of twenty or more girls. As she swung the circle her legs flew so fast they fairly twinkled, and her hops and skips were a marvel to onlookers. But she landed right side up at last, although breathless, her long braid unloosened, hair tossing on the wind, cheeks red as American beauty roses, and gray eyes black with excitement of the game.

Then the bell rang its warning, the children formed in line and marched in to lessons.

The two weeks in December in which Flibbertigibbet had given herself to the acquisition of the new language, proved long for the Marchioness.

Every day she watched at the window for the reappearance of the two children at the bare upper window opposite; but thus far in vain.

However, on the second Sat.u.r.day after their first across-street meeting, she saw to her great joy the two little girls curled up on the window sill and frantically waving to attract her attention. The Marchioness nodded and smiled, clapped her hands, and mounted upon her own broad window seat in order to have an un.o.bstructed view over the iron grating.

"She sees us, she sees us!" Freckles cried excitedly, but under her breath; "now let's begin."

Flibbertigibbet chose one of the panes that was cleaner than the others and putting her two hands close to it began operations. The Marchioness fairly hopped up and down with delight when she saw the familiar symbols of the deaf-and-dumb alphabet, and immediately set her own small white hands to work on her first sentence:

"Go slow."

Flibbertigibbet nodded emphatically; the conversation was begun again and continued for half an hour. It was in truth a labor as well as a work of love. The spelling in both cases was far from perfect and, at times, puzzling to both parties; but little by little they became used to each other's erratic symbols together with the queer things for which they stood, and no conversation throughout the length and breadth of New York--yes, even of our United States--was ever more enjoyed than by these three girls. Flibbertigibbet and the Marchioness did the finger-talking, and Freckles helped with the interpretation. In the following translation of this first important exchange of social courtesies, the extremely peculiar spelling, and wild combinations of vowels in particular, are omitted: but the questions and answers are given exactly as they were constructed by the opposite neighbors.

"Go slow." This as a word of warning from the Marchioness.

"You bet."

"Isn't this fun?"

"Beats the band."

"What is your name?"

Flibbertigibbet and her chum looked at each other; should it be nickname or real name? As they were at present in society and much on their dignity they decided to give their real names.

"Aileen Armagh." Thereupon Flibbertigibbet beat upon her breast to indicate first person singular possessive. The Marchioness stared at her for a minute, then spelled rather quickly:

"It's lovely. We call you something else."

"Who's we?"

"Aunt Ruth and I."

"What do you call me?"

"Flibbertigibbet."

"Git off!" cried Flibbertigibbet, recklessly shoving Freckles on to the floor. "Gee, how'd she know!" And thereupon she jumped to her feet and, having the broad window sill to herself, started upon a rather restricted c.o.o.n dance in order to prove to her opposite neighbor that the nickname belonged to her by good right. Oh, but it was fun for the Marchioness! She clapped her hands to show her approval and catching up the skirt of her dainty white frock, slowly raised one leg at a right angle to her body and stood so for a moment, to the intense admiration of the other girls.

"That's what they call me here," said Flibbertigibbet when they got down to conversation again.

"What is hers?" asked the Marchioness, pointing to Freckles.

"Margaret O'Dowd, but we call her Freckles."

How the Marchioness laughed! So hard, indeed, that she apparently tumbled off the seat, for she disappeared entirely for several minutes, much to the girls' amazement as well as chagrin.

"It's like she broke somethin'," whimpered Freckles; "a bone yer know--her nose fallin' that way when she went over forrard."

"She ain't chany, I tell yer; she's jest Injy rubber," said Flibbertigibbet scornfully but with a note of anxiety in her voice. At this critical moment the Marchioness reappeared and jumped upon the seat. She had a curious affair in her hand; after placing it to her eyes, she signalled her answer:

"I can see them."

"See what?"

"The freckles."

"Wot's she givin' us?" Freckles asked in a perplexed voice.

"She's all right," said Flibbertigibbet with the confidence of superior knowledge; "it's a tel'scope; yer can see the moon through, an' yer freckles look to her as big as pie-plates."

Freckles crossed herself; it sounded like witches and it had a queer look.

"Ask her wot's her name," she suggested.