call on Granny. Billy Potter was very nice to them both. He was
always telling the sisters the long amusing stories of his
adventures. Miss Matilda’s gentle face used positively to beam at
these times, and Miss Jemima laughed so hard that, according to her
own story, his talk put her “in stitches.”

Maida did not see Rosie’s mother often. To tell the truth, she was a
little afraid of her. She was a tall, handsome, black-browed woman—a
grown-up Rosie—with an appearance of great strength and of even
greater temper. “Ah, that choild’s the limb,” Granny would say, when
Maida brought her some new tale of Rosie’s disobedience. And yet, in
the curious way in which Maida divined things that were not told
her, she knew that, next to Dicky, Rosie was Granny’s favorite of
all the children in the neighborhood.

With all these little people to act upon its stage, it is not
surprising that Primrose Court seemed to Maida to be a little
theater of fun—a stage to which her window was the royal box.
Something was going on there from morning to night. Here would be a
little group of little girls playing “house” with numerous families
of dolls. There, it would be boys, gathered in an excited ring,
playing marbles or top. Just before school, games like leap-frog, or
tag or prisoners’ base would prevail. But, later, when there was
more time, hoist-the-sail would fill the air with its strange cries,
or hide-and-seek would make the place boil with excitement. Maida
used to watch these games wistfully, for Granny had decided that
they were all too rough for her. She would not even let Maida play
“London-Bridge-is-falling-down” or “drop the handkerchief”—anything,
in fact, in which she would have to run or pull.