But Granny had no objections to the gentler fun of “Miss
Jennie-I-Jones,” “ring-a-ring-a-rounder,” “water, water wildflower,”
“the farmer in the dell,” “go in and out the windows.” Maida used to
try to pick out the airs of these games on the spinet—she never could
decide which was the sweetest.

Maida soon learned how to play jackstones and, at the end of the
second week, she was almost as proficient as Rosie with the top. The
thing she most wanted to learn, however, was jump-rope. Every little
girl in Primrose Court could jump-rope—even the twins, who were
especially nimble at “pepper.” Maida tried it one night—all alone in
the shop. But suddenly her weak leg gave way under her and she fell
to the floor. Granny, rushing in from the other room, scolded her
violently. She ended by forbidding her to jump again without special
permission. But Maida made up her mind that she was going to learn
sometime, even, as she said with a roguish smile, “if it took a
leg.” She talked it over with Rosie.

“You let her jump just one jump every morning and night, Granny,”
Rosie advised, “and I’m sure it will be all right. That won’t hurt
her any and, after awhile, she’ll find she can jump two, then three
and so on. That’s the way I learned.”

Granny agreed to this. Maida practiced constantly, one jump in her
nightgown, just before going to bed, and another, all dressed, just
after she got up.

“I jumped three jumps this morning without failing, Granny,” she
said one morning at breakfast. Within a few days the record climbed
to five, then to seven, then, at a leap, to ten.