hard, you must not suppose
that they left no time to play. Indeed, the weather was so fine that
it was hard to stay in the house. The beautiful Indian summer had
come and each new day dawned more perfect than the last. The trees
had become so gorgeous that it was as if the streets were lined with
burning torches. Whenever a breeze came, they seemed to flicker and
flame and flare. Maida and Rosie used to shuffle along the gutters
gathering pocketsful of glossy horse-chestnuts and handfuls of
gorgeous leaves.

Sometimes it seemed to Maida that she did not need to play, that
there was fun enough in just being out-of-doors. But she did play a
great deal for she was well enough to join in all the fun now and it
seemed to her that she never could get enough of any one game.

She would play house and paper-dolls and ring-games with the little
children in the morning when the older ones were in school. She
would play jackstones with the bigger girls in the afternoon. She
would play running games with the crowd of girls and boys, of whom
the W.M.N.T.'s were the leaders, towards night. Then sometimes she
would grumble to Granny because the days were so short.

Of all the games, Hoist-the-Sail was her favorite. She often served
as captain on her side. But whether she called or awaited the cry,
"Liberty poles are bending--hoist the sail!" a thrill ran through her
that made her blood dance.

"It's no use in talking, Granny," Maida said joyfully one day. "My
leg is getting stronger. I jumped twenty jumps to-day without
stopping."

After that her progress was rapid. She learned to jump in the rope
with Rosie.

They were a pretty sight. People passing often gave them more than
one glance--Rosie so vivid and sparkling, in the scarlet cape and hat
all velvety jet-blacks, satiny olives and brilliant crimsons--Maida
slim, delicate, fairy-like in her long squirrel-coat and cap, her
airy ringlets streaming in the breeze and the eyes that had once
been so wistful now shining with happiness.

"Do you know what you look like, Maida?" Rosie said once. Before
Maida could answer, she went on. "You look like that little mermaid
princess in Anderson's fairy tales--the one who had to suffer so to
get legs like mortals."

"Do I?" Maida laughed. "Now isn't it strange I have always thought
that you look like somebody in a fairy tale, too. You're like
Rose-Red in 'Rose-Red and Snow-White.' I think," she added, flushing,
for she was a little a