“Well, I thought of another thing,” Rosie went on eagerly. “Miss Allison told mother that Granny told her that you’d been sick for a long time. And I thought, maybe you were out of your head and imagined those things. Oh, Maida,” Rosie’s voice actually coaxed her to favor this theory, “don’t you think you imagined them?”
Maida laughed. “No, Rosie,” she said in her quietest voice, “I did not imagine them.”
For a moment neither of the two little girls spoke. But they stared, a little defiantly, into each other’s eyes.
“What did Dicky say?” Maida asked after awhile.
“Oh, Dicky said he would believe anything you told him, no matter what it was. Dicky says he believes you’re a princess in disguise—like in fairy-tales.”
“Dear, dear Dicky!” Maida said. “He was the first friend I made in Primrose Court and I guess he’s the best one.”
“Well, I guess I’m your friend,” Rosie said, firing up; “I told that little smarty-cat of a Laura if she ever said one word against you, I’d slap her good and hard. Only—only—it seems strange that a little girl who’s just like the rest of us should have story-book things happening to her all the time. If it’s true—then fairy-tales are true.” She paused and looked Maida straight in the eye. “I can’t believe it, Maida. But I know you believe it. And that’s all there is to it. But you’d better believe I’m your friend.”
Saying which she marched out.
Maida’s second trouble began that night.
It had grown dark. Suddenly, without any warning, the door of the shop flew open. For an instant three or four voices filled the place with their yells. Then the door shut. Nothing was heard but the sound of running feet.