"Italian and German-a very little."

Laura stared hard at her and her look was full of question. But it was evident that she decided to believe Maida.

"I live in Primrose Court," she said, and now there was not a shadow of condescension left in her voice. "That large house at the back with the big lawn about it. I'd like to have you come and play with me some afternoon. I'm very busy most of the time, though. I take music and fancy dancing and elocution. Next winter, I'm going to take up French. I'll send you word some afternoon when I have time to play."

"Thank you," Maida said in her most civil voice. "Come and play with me sometime," she added after a pause.

"Oh, my mother doesn't let me play in other children's houses,"

Laura said airily. "Good-bye."

"Good-bye," Maida answered.

She waited until Laura had disappeared into the court. "Granny," she called impetuously, "a little girl's been here who I think is the hatefullest, horridest, disagreeablest thing I ever saw in my life."

"Why, what did the choild do?" Granny asked in surprise.

"Do?" Maida repeated. "She did everything. Why, she-she-" She interrupted herself to think hard a moment. "Well, it's the queerest thing. I can't tell you a thing she did, Granny, and yet, all the time she was here I wanted to slap her."

"There's manny folks that-a-way," said Granny. "The woisest way is to take no notuce av ut."

"Take no notice of it!" Maida stormed. "It's just like not taking any notice of a bee when it's stinging you."

Maida was so angry that she walked into the living-room without limping.

At four that afternoon, when the children came out of school, there was another flurry of trade. Towards five, it slackened. Maida sat in her swivel-chair and wistfully watched the scene in the court.

Little boys were playing top. Little girls were jumping rope. Once she saw a little girl in a scarlet cape come out of one of the yards. On one shoulder perched a fluffy kitten. Following her, gamboled an Irish setter and a Skye terrier. Presently it grew dark and the children began to go indoors. Maida lighted the gas and lost herself in "Gulliver's Travels."

The sound of voices attracted her attention after awhile. She turned in her chair. Outside, staring into the window, stood a little boy and girl-a ragged, dirty pair. Their noses pressed so hard against the gla.s.s that they were flattened into round white circles. They took no notice of Maida. Dropping her eyes to her book, she pretended to read.

"I boneys that red top, first," said the little boy in a piping voice.

He was a round, brown, pop-eyed, big-mouthed little creature. Maida could not decide which he looked most like-a frog or a brownie. She christened him "the Bogle" at once.

"I boneys that little pink doll with the curly hair, first," said the girl.

She was a round, brown little creature, too-but pretty. She had merry brown eyes and a merry little red and white smile. Maida christened her "the Robin."

"I boneys that big agate, second," said the Bogle.

"I boneys that little table, second," said the Robin.

"I boneys that knife, third," said the Bogle.

"I boneys that little chair, third," said the Robin.

Maida could not imagine what kind of game they were playing. She went to the door. "Come in, children," she called.

The children jumped and started to run away. But they stopped a little way off, turned and stood as if they were not certain what to do. Finally the Robin marched over to Maida's side and the Bogle followed.

"Tell me about the game you were playing," Maida said. "I never heard of it before."

"'Tain't any game," the Bogle said.

"We were just boneying," the Robin explained. "Didn't you ever boney anything?"

"No."

"Why, you boneys things in store windows," the Robin went on. "You always boney with somebody else. You choose one thing for yours and they choose something else for theirs until everything in the window is all chosen up. But of course they don't really belong to you. You only play they do."

"I see," Maida said.

She went to the window and took out the red top and the little pink doll with curly hair. "Here, these are the things you boneyed first.

You may have them."

"Oh, thank you-thank you-thank you," the Robin exclaimed. She kissed the little pink doll ecstatically, stopping now and then to look gratefully at Maida.

"Thank you," the Bogle echoed. He did not look at Maida but he began at once to wind his top.

"What is your name?" Maida asked.

"Molly Doyle," the Robin answered. "And this is my brother, Timmie Doyle."

"My name's Maida. Come and see me again, Molly, and you, too, Timmie."

"Of course I'll come," Molly answered, "and I'm going to name my doll 'Maida.'"

Molly ran all the way home, her doll tightly clutched to her breast.

But Timmie stopped to spin his top six times-Maida counted.

No more customers came that evening. At six, Maida closed and locked the shop.

After dinner she thought she would read one of her new books. She settled herself in her little easy chair by the fire and opened to a story with a fascinating picture. But the moment her eyes fell on the page-it was the strangest thing-a drowsiness, as deep as a fairy's enchantment, fell upon her. She struggled with it for awhile, but she could not throw it off. The next thing she knew, Granny was helping her up the stairs, was undressing her, had laid her in her bed. The next thing she was saying dreamily, "I made one dollar and eighty-seven cents to-day. If my papa ever gets into any more trouble in Wall Street, he can borrow from me."

The next thing, she felt the pillow soft and cool under her cheek.

The next thing-bright sunlight was pouring through the window-it was morning again.

CHAPTER IV: THE SECOND DAY

It had rained all that night, but the second morning dawned the twinklingest kind of day. It seemed to Maida that Mother Nature had washed a million tiny, fleecy, white clouds and hung them out to dry in the crisp blue air. Everything still dripped but the brilliant sunshine put a sparkle on the whole world. Slates of old roofs glistened, bra.s.ses of old doors glittered, silver of old name-plates shone. Curbstones, sidewalks, doorsteps glimmered and gleamed. The wet, ebony-black trunks of the maples smoked as if they were afire, their thick-leaved, golden heads flared like burning torches. Maida stood for a long time at the window listening to a parrot who called at intervals from somewhere in the neighborhood. "Get up, you sleepy-heads! Get up! Get up!"

A huge puddle stretched across Primrose Court. When Maida took her place in the swivel-chair, three children had begun already to float shingles across its muddy expanse. Two of them were Molly and Tim Doyle, the third a little girl whom Maida did not know. For a time she watched them, fascinated. But, presently, the school children crowding into the shop took all her attention. After the bell rang and the neighborhood had become quiet again, she resumed her watch of the mud-puddle fun.

Now they were loading their shingles with leaves, twigs, pebbles, anything that they could find in the gutters. By lashing the water into waves, as they trotted in the wake of their frail craft, they managed to sail them from one end of the puddle to the other. Maida followed the progress of these merchant vessels as breathlessly as their owners. Some capsized utterly. Others started to founder and had to be dragged ash.o.r.e. A few brought the cruise to a triumphant finish.