"Why not?" Maida asked.

"She's a tom-boy," Mabel informed her.

"What's a tom-boy?" Maida asked Billy that night at dinner.

"A tom-boy?" Billy repeated. "Why, a tom-boy is a girl who acts like a boy."

"How can a girl be a boy?" Maida queried after a few moments of thought. "Why don't they call her a tom-girl?"

"Why, indeed?" Billy answered, taking up the dictionary.

Certainly Rosie Brine acted like a boy-Maida proved that to herself in the next few days when she watched Rose-Red again and again. But if she were a tom-boy, she was also, Maida decided, the most beautiful and the most wonderful little girl in the world. And, indeed, Rosie was so full of energy that it seemed to spurt out in the continual sparkle of her face and the continual movement of her body. She never walked. She always crossed the street in a series of flying jumps. She never went through a gate if she could go over the fence, never climbed the fence if she could vault it. The scarlet cape was always flashing up trees, over sheds, sometimes to the very roofs of the houses. Her princ.i.p.al diversion seemed to be climbing lamp-posts. Maida watched this proceeding with envy. One athletic leap and Rose-Red was clasping the iron column half-way up-a few more and she was swinging from the bars under the lantern. But she was accomplished in other ways. She could spin tops, play "cat" and "shinney" as well as any of the boys. And as for jumping rope-if two little girls would swing for her, Rosie could actually waltz in the rope.

The strangest thing about Rosie was that she did not always go to school like the other children. The incident of the dog happened on Thursday. Friday morning, when the children filed into the schoolhouse, Rosie did not follow them. Instead, she hid herself in a doorway until after the bell rang. A little later she sneaked out of her hiding place, joined Arthur Duncan at the corner, and disappeared into the distance. Just before twelve they both came back. For a few moments, they kept well concealed on a side street, out of sight of Primrose Court. But, at intervals, Rosie or Arthur would dart out to a spot where, without being seen, they could get a glimpse of the church clock. When the children came out of school at twelve, they joined the crowd and sauntered home.

Monday morning Maida saw them repeat these maneuvers. She was completely mystified by them and yet she had an uncomfortable feeling. They were so stealthy that she could not help guessing that something underhand was going on.

"Do you know Rosie Brine?" Maida asked d.i.c.ky Dore one evening when they were reading together.

"Sure!" d.i.c.ky's face lighted up. "Isn't she a peach?"

"They say she is a tom-boy," Maida objected. "Is she?"

"Surest thing you know," d.i.c.ky said cheerfully. "She won't take a dare. You ought to see her playing stumps. There's nothing a boy can do that she won't do. And have you noticed how she can spin a top-the best I ever saw for a girl."

Then boys liked girls to be tom-boys. This was a great surprise.

"How does it happen that she doesn't go to school often?"

d.i.c.ky grinned. "Hooking jack!"

"Hooking jack?" Maida repeated in a puzzled tone.

"Hooking jack-playing hookey-playing truant." d.i.c.ky watched Maida's face but her expression was still puzzled. "Pretending to go to school and not going," he said at last.

"Oh," Maida said. "I understand now."

"She just hates school," d.i.c.ky went on. "They can't make her go. Old Stoopendale, the truant officer, is always after her. Little she cares for old Stoopy though. She gets fierce beatings for it at home, too. Funny thing about Rosie-she won't tell a lie. And when her mother asks her about it, she always tells the truth. Sometimes her mother will go to the schoolhouse door with her every morning and afternoon for a week. But the moment she stops, Rosie begins to hook jack again."

"Mercy me!" Maida said. In all her short life she had never heard anything like this. She was convinced that Rosie Brine was a very naughty little girl. And yet, underneath this conviction, burned an ardent admiration for her.

"She must be very brave," she said soberly.

"Brave! Well, I guess you'd think so! Arthur Duncan says she's braver than a lot of boys he knows. Arthur and she hook jack together sometimes. And, oh cracky, don't they have the good times!

They go down to the Navy Yard and over to the Monument Grounds.

Sometimes they go over to Boston Common and the Public Garden. Once they walked all the way to Franklin Park. And in the summer they often walk down to Crescent Beach. They say when I get well, I can go with them."

d.i.c.ky spoke in the wistful tone with which he always related the deeds of stronger children. Maida knew exactly how he felt-she had been torn by the same hopes and despairs.

"Oh, wouldn't it be grand to be able to do just anything?" she said.

"I'm just beginning to feel as if I could do some of the things I've always wanted to do."

"I'm going to do them all, sometime," d.i.c.ky prophesied. "Doc O'Brien says so."

"I think Rosie the beautifullest little girl," Maida said. "I wish she'd come into the shop so that I could get acquainted with her."

"Oh, she'll come in sometime. You see the W.M.N.T. is meeting now and we're all pretty busy. She's the only girl in it."

"The W.M.N.T.," Maida repeated. "What does that mean?"

"I can't tell?" d.i.c.ky said regretfully. "It's the name of our club.

Rosie and Arthur and I are the only ones who belong."

After that talk, Maida watched Rosie Brine closer than ever. If she caught a glimpse of the scarlet cape in the distance, it was hard to go on working. She noticed that Rosie seemed very fond of all helpless things. She was always wheeling out the babies in the neighborhood, always feeding the doves and carrying her kitten about on her shoulder, always winning the hearts of other people's dogs and then trying to induce them not to follow her.

"It seems strange that she never comes into the shop," Maida said mournfully to d.i.c.ky one day.

"You see she never has any money to spend," d.i.c.ky explained. "That's the way her mother punishes her. But sometimes she earns it on the sly taking care of babies. She loves babies and babies always love her. Delia'll go to her from my mother any time and as for Betsy Hale-Rosie's the only one who can do anything with her."

But a whole week pa.s.sed. And then one day, to Maida's great delight, the tinkle of the bell preceded the entrance of Rose-Red.

"Let me look at your tops, please," Rosie said, marching to the counter with the usual proud swing of her body.

Seen closer, she was even prettier than at a distance. Her smooth olive skin glistened like satin. Her lips showed roses even more brilliant than those that bloomed in her cheeks. A frown between her eyebrows gave her face almost a sullen look. But to offset this, her white teeth turned her smile into a flash of light. Maida lifted all the tops from the window and placed them on the counter.

"Mind if I try them?" Rosie asked.

"Oh, do."

Rosie wound one of them with an expert hand. Then with a quick dash forward of her whole arm, she threw the top to the floor. It danced there, humming like a whole hiveful of bees.

"Oh, how lovely!" Maida exclaimed. Then in fervent admiration: "What a wonderful girl you are!"

Rosie smiled. "Easy as pie if you know how. Want to learn?"

"Oh, will you teach me?"

"Sure! Begin now."

Maida limped from behind the counter. Rosie watched her. Rosie's face softened with the same pity that had shone on the frightened little dog.

"She's sorry for me," Maida thought. "How sweet she looks!"

But Rosie said nothing about Maida's limp. She explained the process of top-spinning from end to end, step by step, making Maida copy everything that she did. At first Maida was too eager-her hands actually trembled. But gradually she gained in confidence. At last she succeeded in making one top spin feebly.

"Now you've got the hang of it," Rosie encouraged her, "You'll soon learn. All you want to do is to practice. I'll come to-morrow and see how you're getting on."

"Oh, do," Maida begged, "and come to see me in the evening sometime.

Come this evening if your mother'll let you."