won't
stay long. Do you like your Aunt Theresa?"

"Oh, yes, I like her. But of course she isn't mother."

"No, of course. Nobody is like your mother."

"Oh, yes; there's something else I had to tell you. The W.M.N.T.'s
are going to meet at Dicky's after school this afternoon. Be sure to
come, Maida."

"Of course I'll come." Maida's whole face sparkled. "That is, if
Granny doesn't think it's too wet."

Rosie lingered for a few moments but she did not seem like her usual
happy-go-lucky self. And when she left, Maida noticed that instead
of running across the street she actually walked.

All the morning long Maida talked of nothing to Granny but the
prospective meeting of the W.M.N.T.'s. "Just think, Granny, I never
belonged to a club before," she said again and again.

Very early she had put out on her bed the clothes that she intended
to wear--a tanbrown serge of which she was particularly fond, and her
favorite "tire" of a delicate, soft lawn. She kept rushing to the
window to study the sky. It continued to look like the inside of a
dull tin cup. She would not have eaten any lunch at all if Granny
had not told her that she must. And her heart sank steadily all the
afternoon for the rain continued to come down.

"I don't suppose I can go, Granny," she faltered when the clock
struck four.

"Sure an you _can_," Granny responded briskly.

But she wrapped Maida up, as Maida herself said: "As if I was one of
papa's carved crystals come all the way from China."

First Granny put on a sweater, then a coat, then over all a
raincoat. She put a hood on her head and a veil over that. She made
her wear rubber boots and take an umbrella. Maida got into a gale of
laughter during the dressing.

"I ought to be wrapped in excelsior now," she said. "If I fall down
in the puddle in the court, Granny," she threatened merrily, "I
never can pick myself up. I'll either have to roll and roll and roll
until I get on to dry land or I'll have to wait until somebody comes
and shovels me out."

But she did not fall into the puddle. She walked carefully along the
edge and then ran as swiftly as her clothes and lameness would
permit. She arrived in Dicky's garret, red-cheeked and breathless.

Arthur and Rosie had already come. Rosie was playing on the floor
with Delia and the puppy that she had rescued from the tin-can
persecution. Rosie was growling, the dog was yelping and Delia was
squealing--but all three with delight.

Arthur