Anne Marie waited for the driver of the truck to run back, pick up his box, and dash off again. But no, the express wagon swung round the corner and out of sight.
Then Anne Marie waited for a passer-by to pick up the box and carry it away. But there were very few passers-by on this wet day, as Anne Marie already knew.
Suddenly a thought came to Anne Marie, a daring thought, that made her cheeks burn and her very curls bob up and down with excitement.
‘I will pick up the box,’ thought Anne Marie, already creeping on tiptoe to the door. ‘That is, if Grand’mère will say I may go down,’ she added, with a hand on the rattling white china doorknob.
‘Grand’mère,’ whispered Anne Marie in the very smallest possible voice, ‘Grand’mère, may I go downstairs after the box?’
Grand’mère did not answer. Her head nodded a little lower, her knitting slipped down in her lap, and her soft breathing was her only reply.
‘Grand’mère is sound asleep,’ said Anne Marie to herself, ‘and I must not wake her. It would not be kind.’
So softly Anne Marie stole down the stairs, softly she opened the door to the street. Then swift as an arrow she darted out into the rain, picked up the box, and darted back into the house again.
She was not wet at all. Surely Grand’mère would not scold. A few raindrops on her hair, a few splashes on her dress. As for her shoes, she rubbed them for a moment on the mat, and lo! they were as dry as dry could be.
