Finally she decided to write a letter home asking them to send for her—so she spoke to a boy who chanced to be passing—one of the very boys, by the way, who had teased the Page to sell her.
It gave her a most unpleasant sensation to note that her voice sounded different,—oh, so different; and she also noticed that while she wanted to be kind and friendly her tone was haughty, and her attitude severe.
The old Maida, the little girl, would have smiled and asked “Say, boy, where’s the post-office?” Then the boy would have grinned, and stood first on one foot, then on the other, and mauled his cap about, blushing a bit—then he’d have told her.
That’s the way she wanted to speak. That’s what she meant to say. But this is what the boy heard: “Come here, boy! Is there a post-office in this outlandish place? If there is, I wish you’d tell me where to find it.”
And she had to say it that way; she couldn’t help herself.
“Decidedly,” she said to herself (that is the little girl Maida said ’way down deep), “if I had met myself grown up when I was a child—I would never have wished to be me.” This may seem very obscure, but if you puzzle it out you’ll see it meant just what she thought.
But the boy—well, he was rather naughty. He simply made a face at her and ran away. Just then Santa Claus bustled up to her with Billy following him. Both had recovered their clothes and thrown away the old rags—so Billy looked just as nice and Santa Claus just as jolly and rubicund as ever.
“Well,” chuckled the sprightly old fellow, “I see you’ve had your wish.”
Maida wanted to be nice—but alas—the “little girl” was hidden down so deep she just had to step back and look at him coldly, saying, “Excuse me, I haven’t the pleasure of your acquaintance.”
How Santa Claus did stare!