“Oh, do,” Maida begged, “and come to see me in the evening sometime.
Come this evening if your mother’ll let you.”

Rosie laughed scornfully. “I guess nobody’s got anything to say
about _letting me_, if I make up my mind to come. Well, goodbye!”

She whirled out of the shop and soon the scarlet cape was a
brilliant spot in the distance.

But about seven that evening the bell rang. When Maida opened the
door there stood Rosie.

“Oh, Rosie,” Maida said joyfully, throwing her arms about her guest,
“how glad I am to see you!” She hurried her into the living-room
where Billy Potter was talking with Granny. “This is Rosie Brine,
Billy,” she said, her voice full of pride in her new friend. “And
this is Billy Potter, Rosie.”

Billy shook hands gravely with the little girl. And Rosie looked at
him in open wonder. Maida knew exactly what she was thinking. Rosie
was trying to make up her mind whether he was a boy or a man. The
problem seemed to grow more perplexing as the evening went on. For
part of the time Billy played with them, sitting on the floor like a
boy, and part of the time he talked with Granny, sitting in a chair
like a man.

Maida showed Rosie her books, her Venetian beads, all her cherished
possessions. Rosie liked the canaries better than anything. “Just
think of having six!” she said. Then, sitting upstairs in Maida’s