“what are you so quiet about, maida?” dicky asked at breakfast a few mornings later. “i don’t think you’ve said a word since you’ve got up.”
“haven’t i?” maida replied. but she added nothing.
at first because of the noise which prevailed at breakfasts in the little house, nobody noticed maida’s continued silence. then finally rosie brine made comment on it. “sleepy-head! sleepy-head!” she teased. “wake up and talk. you’re not in bed asleep. you’re sitting at the table.”
maida opened her lips to speak but closed them quickly on something which it was apparent, she even repented thinking. she shut her lips firmly and maintained her silence.
“s’eepy-head! s’eepy-head!” the little mimic, delia, prattled. “wate up and tot. not in bed as’eep. sitting at table.”
everybody laughed. everybody always laughed at delia’s strenuous efforts to produce[pg 193] as copious a stream of conversation as the grown-ups. but maida only bit her lips.
the talk drifted among the older children to plans for the day.
“perhaps you will give us your views, miss westabrook,” laura said after some discussion, with a touch of purely friendly sarcasm. “that is if you will condescend to talk with us.”
“oh can’t i be quiet once in a while,” maida exclaimed pettishly, “without everybody speaking of it!” she rose from the table. “i’m tired of talking!” she walked quickly out of the dining room and ran upstairs to her own chamber. the children stared for a moment petrified.
“why i never saw maida cross before,” rosie said in almost an awed tone. “i wonder what can be the matter. i hope i didn’t say anything—”
“no, of course you didn’t,” arthur answered. “maida got out of the wrong side of her bed this morning—that’s all.”
“well,” laura concluded generously, “if anybody’s got a right to be cross once in a while, it’s maida. she’s always so sweet.”
after breakfast, the children separated, as was the custom of the little house, to the[pg 194] early morning tasks. but rosie and laura lingered about, talking in low tones, before one went to the library and the other into the living room to do her daily stint of dusting. after this work was finished, they proceeded to the garden and plucked flowers together.
it was phlox season and laura cut great bunches of blossoms that ran all the shades from white to a deep magenta through pink, vermilion, lavender and purple-blue. but rosie chose caligulas—changelessly orange; zinnias—purple, garnet, crimson; marigolds—yellow and gold.
“oh how lovely they look,” laura exclaimed burying her face in the delicately-perfumed mass of phlox. she put her harvest on a rock and helped rosie with the more difficult work of gathering nasturtiums. the vines and plants were now full of blossoms. it was impossible to keep ahead of them. they picked all they could.
“i hope maida isn’t sick,” laura said after a while.
“i don’t believe she is,” rosie reassured her.
“i wonder if we ought not to go up to her room,” laura mused. “let’s!”
rosie reflected. “no, i think we’d better[pg 195] wait until after we’ve come back from the errands. maida wants to be alone so seldom that i guess we’d better not interrupt her. besides i heard her slam her door hard and then lock it. i guess that means she doesn’t want anybody around for a time.”
“i guess it does too,” laura agreed. “it isn’t my turn to go to market, but i’m going with you this morning, rosie. it’ll give maida a chance to be alone for a while.”
the little girls trundled their bicycles out of the barn; mounted them and speeded down the long trail which led to the road.
in the meantime, maida still remained in her room. she made her bed with fierce determined motions, as though it were a work of destruction rather than construction. she dusted her bureau with swift slapping strokes. then she sat down by the window. why was she cross, she didn’t know; but undoubtedly she was cross. she didn’t want to go anywhere; she didn’t want to play games; to see anybody; least of all to talk. why—when ordinarily she was so sociable, she should have this feeling she had no idea. nevertheless it was there.
from various directions, sound of voices[pg 196] came to her; rosie’s and laura’s from the garden; the boys from the barn; the little children from house rock. rosie and laura were nearer, but she could not hear what they were saying. and of course she made no attempt to listen. later she heard them go around to the barn—she knew they were off on the morning marketing. still maida continued to sit listlessly looking out of the window.
a long time seemed to go by.
presently she heard in the distance, the sound of laura and rosie returning. they were evidently in a great state of excitement. she could hear them chattering about something as they came up the trail to the house. she did not feel like talking, but she knew it was her duty to meet them, to apologize for her rudeness, to go on with the usual games of the day. she caught the rattle with which the two girls put their bicycles in place; then their swift rush to the kitchen. at the door she got in rosie’s high excited tones, “where’s maida, granny?”
“still upstairs,” granny answered. “i haven’t heard her stir.”
“we’ve got something to tell her,” rosie went on swiftly.
“and the most dreadful thing has [pg 197]happened,” laura put in simultaneously. then talking together in phrases that broke one against the other or overlapped, “a dreadful accident ... silva burle ... this morning ... she was on her bicycle ... man just learning to run an automobile ... knocked her off ... picked up senseless.... it happened in front of fosdick house ... took her in ... there now....”
“how is the poor choild?” maida heard granny ask compassionately.
“nothing broken,” laura answered eagerly, “but it was a long time before she came to.”
“she’s not unconscious any longer,” rosie concluded the story. “she’s asleep, but she moans and mutters all the time.”
maida listened, horrified. she felt that she ought to go downstairs and talk with the girls. she felt that she ought to get on her bicycle, go at once to see silva.
apparently mrs. dore said something to that effect; for rosie answered promptly, “oh no, nobody’s allowed to see her yet.”
somehow if she could not go to silva, maida did not feel like talking. not yet at any rate. why not get away from the house until her strange mood passed?
