Maida Crept Out of Bed
“I’ve come to take you to the Wishing Post,” he said. Maida started to climb out of the window, but she thought better of it when the Man with the Growly Voice spoke again. “Don’t you think,” he said, “that you had better dress before we start? It will be rather chilly at the North Pole, with nothing on but a pink and white nightie.” How her fingers flew! She found all her clothes nicely piled on a chair beside her bed, and she dressed quicker than she ever dressed before, or since. Luckily her pretty white fur coat Aunt Mary had given her was hanging in the closet, and the cap beside it. She put them on, and as the coat reached to her feet she felt very warm and comfy. You will never know how quietly she opened the door. You will never know how “creepy” she stole down the stair. But just as she opened the big front door she happened to think of mama and papa and Aunt Mary. She thought they might be worried, so she sat down to write them a note. Maida could write very well for such a little girl, although her T’s and her F’s would persist in looking alike, or worse still, when she meant to make a W an M would hop into its place. Well, this note was the best thing she had ever written. She had no idea she could write so rapidly. All the letters made themselves properly and somehow got into the right place. Altogether, it was a splendid letter. As nearly as I remember, it ran something like this:
“Dear Mama, and Papa, and Aunt Mary:
“I was afraid you might be worried when you found me gone, and I was afraid to tell you because you might not let me go. I’ll be back in a day or two. I’ve only gone with a gentleman to find the North Pole and wish to be grown up. With dearest love,
“Maida.”
Dear Mama Papa and Aunt Mary:
She knew that when they got her note they wouldn’t be worried at all. Then she went out and closed the big front door behind her. The Man with the Growly Voice was waiting and he lifted her into the little wicker house. “This is your room,” he said, showing her into a little cabin, and it was just lovely; all cuddly and comfy and bright. The little brass bed shone and shone; the pretty mirror reflected her happy face. The lights danced and flickered—ah, in every way it was just exactly like what a room in a flying ship should be.
Then she noticed they were going up—they passed the roof, then the chimney, then the church steeple next door. The house grew smaller and smaller until she couldn’t tell it from the houses beside it. They floated over the Park and Maida could see the lights of the city underneath her—and—then over the river with the boats going out and coming in.