“Want to know a secret, Maida?” Rosie asked suddenly, her eyes dancing with mischief.
“Oh, yes. I love secrets.”
“Cross your throat then.”
Maida did not know how to cross her throat but Rosie taught her.
“Well, then,” Rosie whispered, “my mother doesn’t know that I went to your house. She sent me to bed for being naughty. And I got up and dressed and climbed out my window on to the shed without anybody knowing it. She’ll never know the difference.”
“Oh, Rosie,” Maida said in a horrified tone, “Please never do it again.” In spite of herself, Maida’s eyes twinkled.
But Rosie only laughed. Maida watched her steal into her yard, watched her climb over the shed, watched her disappear through the window.
But she grieved over the matter as she walked home. Perhaps it was because she was thinking so deeply that she did not notice how quiet they all were in the living-room. But as she crossed the threshold, a pair of arms seized her and swung her into the air.
“Oh, papa, papa,” she whispered, cuddling her face against his, “how glad I am to see you.”
He marched with her over to the light.