d.

The children jumped and started to run away. But they stopped a
little way off, turned and stood as if they were not certain what to
do. Finally the Robin marched over to Maida's side and the Bogle
followed.

"Tell me about the game you were playing," Maida said. "I never
heard of it before."

"'Tain't any game," the Bogle said.

"We were just boneying," the Robin explained. "Didn't you ever boney
anything?"

"No."

"Why, you boneys things in store windows," the Robin went on. "You
always boney with somebody else. You choose one thing for yours and
they choose something else for theirs until everything in the window
is all chosen up. But of course they don't really belong to you. You
only play they do."

"I see," Maida said.

She went to the window and took out the red top and the little pink
doll with curly hair. "Here, these are the things you boneyed first.
You may have them."

"Oh, thank you--thank you--thank you," the Robin exclaimed. She kissed
the little pink doll ecstatically, stopping now and then to look
gratefully at Maida.

"Thank you," the Bogle echoed. He did not look at Maida but he began
at once to wind his top.

"What is your name?" Maida asked.

"Molly Doyle," the Robin answered. "And this is my brother, Timmie
Doyle."

"My name's Maida. Come and see me again, Molly, and you, too,
Timmie."

"Of course I'll come," Molly answered, "and I'm going to name my
doll 'Maida.'"

Molly ran all the way home, her doll tightly clutched to her breast.
But Timmie stopped to spin his top six times--Maida counted.

No more customers came that evening. At six, Maida closed and locked
the shop.

After dinner she thought she would read one of her new books. She
settled herself in her little easy chair by the fire and opened to a
story with a fascinating picture. But the moment her eyes fell on
the page--it was the strangest thing--a drowsiness, as deep as a
fairy's enchantment, fell upon her. She struggled with it for
awhile, but she could not throw it off. The next thing she knew,
Granny was helping her up the stairs, was undressing her, had laid
her in her bed. The next thing she was saying dreamily, "I made one
dollar and eighty-seven cents to-day. If my papa ever gets into any
more trouble in Wall Street, he can borrow from me."

The next thing, she felt the pillow soft and cool under her cheek.
The next thing--bright sunlight was pouring through the window--it was
morning again.