go on working. She noticed that Rosie seemed very fond of all
helpless things. She was always wheeling out the babies in the
neighborhood, always feeding the doves and carrying her kitten about
on her shoulder, always winning the hearts of other people’s dogs
and then trying to induce them not to follow her.

“It seems strange that she never comes into the shop,” Maida said
mournfully to Dicky one day.

“You see she never has any money to spend,” Dicky explained. “That’s
the way her mother punishes her. But sometimes she earns it on the
sly taking care of babies. She loves babies and babies always love
her. Delia’ll go to her from my mother any time and as for Betsy
Hale—Rosie’s the only one who can do anything with her.”

But a whole week passed. And then one day, to Maida’s great delight,
the tinkle of the bell preceded the entrance of Rose-Red.

“Let me look at your tops, please,” Rosie said, marching to the
counter with the usual proud swing of her body.

Seen closer, she was even prettier than at a distance. Her smooth
olive skin glistened like satin. Her lips showed roses even more
brilliant than those that bloomed in her cheeks. A frown between her
eyebrows gave her face almost a sullen look. But to offset this, her
white teeth turned her smile into a flash of light. Maida lifted all
the tops from the window and placed them on the counter.

“Mind if I try them?” Rosie asked.