It began that noontime with a strange little scene that acted itself
out in front of Maida’s window. The children had begun to gather for
school, although it was still very quiet. Suddenly around the corner
came a wild hullaballoo—the shouts of small boys, the yelp of a dog,
the rattle and clang of tin dragged on the brick sidewalk. In
another instant appeared a dog, a small, yellow cur, collarless and
forlorn-looking, with a string of tin cans tied to his tail, a horde
of small boys yelling after him and pelting him with stones.

Maida started up, but before she could get to the door, something
flashed like a scarlet comet from across the street. It was the
little girl whom Maida had seen twice before—the one who always wore
the scarlet cape.

Even in the excitement, Maida noticed how handsome she was. She
seemed proud. She carried her slender, erect little body as if she
were a princess and her big eyes cast flashing glances about her.
Jet-black were her eyes and hair, milk-white were her teeth but in
the olive of her cheeks flamed a red such as could be matched only
in the deepest roses. Maida christened her Rose-Red at once.

Rose-Red lifted the little dog into her arms with a single swoop of
her strong arm. She yanked the cans from its tail with a single
indignant jerk. Fondling the trembling creature against her cheek,
she talked first to him, then to his abashed persecutors.

“You sweet, little, darling puppy, you! Did they tie the wicked cans
to his poor little tail!” and then—“if ever I catch one of you boys
treating a poor, helpless animal like this again, I’ll shake the