'I don't care,' said Maia, seating herself on one of the high-backed chairs. 'I'm going to wait a quarter of an hour, and just see. Godmother doesn't do things like other people, and I'm sure this message is for us.'
Rollo said no more, but followed Maia's example. There they sat, like two little statues, the only distraction being the tick-tack of the clock, and watching the long hand creep slowly down the three divisions of its broad face which showed a quarter of an hour. It seemed a very long quarter of an hour. Maia was so little used to sitting still, except when she was busy with lessons, to which she was obliged to give her attention, that after a few minutes her head began to nod and at last gave such a jerk that she woke up with a start.
'Dear me, isn't it a quarter of an hour yet?' she exclaimed.
'No, it's hardly five minutes,' said Rollo, rather grumpily, for he thought this was a very dull way of spending a holiday, and he would rather have gone out into the woods than sit there waiting. Maia leant her head again on the back of her chair.
'Suppose we count ten times up to sixty,' she said. 'That would be ten minutes if we go by the ticks of the clock, and if she isn't here then, I won't ask you to wait any longer.'
'We can see the time,' said Rollo; 'I don't see the use of counting it loud out.'
Maia said nothing more. Whether she took another little nap; whether Rollo himself did not do so also I cannot say. All I know is that just exactly as the hand of the clock had got to fourteen minutes from the time they had begun watching it, both children started to their feet and looked at each other.
'Do you hear?' said Maia.
'It's a carriage,' exclaimed Rollo.
'How could a carriage come through the wood? There's no path wide enough.'