all the clean laundry into a tub of water and painted the parlor
fireplace with tomato catsup. In a single afternoon, having become
secretly possessed of a pair of scissors, she cut all the fringe off
the parlor furniture, cut great scallops in the parlor curtains, cut
great patches of fur off the cat’s back. When her mother found her,
she was busy cutting her own hair.

Often Granny would hear the door slam on Maida’s hurried rush from
the shop. Hobbling to the window, she would see the child leading
Betsy by the hand. “Running away again,” was all Maida would say.
Occasionally Maida would call in a vexed tone, “Now _how_ did she
creep past the window without my seeing her?” And outside would be
rosy-cheeked, brass-buttoned Mr. Flanagan, carrying Betsy home. Once
Billy arrived at the shop, bearing Betsy in his arms. “She was
almost to the bridge,” he said, “when I caught sight of her from the
car window. The little tramp!”

Betsy never seemed to mind being caught. For an instant the little
rosebud that was her mouth would part over the tiny pearls that were
her teeth. This roguish smile seemed to say: “You wait until the
next time. You won’t catch me then.”

Sometimes Betsy would come into the shop for an hour’s play. Maida
loved to have her there but it was like entertaining a whirlwind.
Betsy had a strong curiosity to see what the drawers and boxes
contained. Everything had to be put back in its place when she left.

Next to the Hales lived the Clarks. By the end of the first week
Maida was the chief adoration of the Clark twins. Dorothy and Mabel
were just as good as Betsy was naughty. When they came over to see