When Rosie went home, Maida walked as far as her gate with her.

“Want to know a secret, Maida?” Rosie asked suddenly, her eyes
dancing with mischief.

“Oh, yes. I love secrets.”

“Cross your throat then.”

Maida did not know how to cross her throat but Rosie taught her.

“Well, then,” Rosie whispered, “my mother doesn’t know that I went
to your house. She sent me to bed for being naughty. And I got up
and dressed and climbed out my window on to the shed without anybody
knowing it. She’ll never know the difference.”

“Oh, Rosie,” Maida said in a horrified tone, “Please never do it
again.” In spite of herself, Maida’s eyes twinkled.

But Rosie only laughed. Maida watched her steal into her yard,
watched her climb over the shed, watched her disappear through the
window.

But she grieved over the matter as she walked home. Perhaps it was
because she was thinking so deeply that she did not notice how quiet
they all were in the living-room. But as she crossed the threshold,
a pair of arms seized her and swung her into the air.

“Oh, papa, papa,” she whispered, cuddling her face against his, “how