Maida showed Rosie her books, her Venetian beads, all her cherished possessions.  Rosie liked the canaries better than anything.  “Just think of having six!” she said.  Then, sitting upstairs in Maida’s bedroom, the two little girls had a long confidential talk.

“I’ve been just crazy to know you, Maida,” Rosie confessed.  “But there was no way of getting acquainted, for you always stayed in the store.  I had to wait until I could tease mother to buy me a top.”

“That’s funny,” Maida said, “for I was just wild to know you.  I kept hoping that you’d come in.  I hope you’ll come often, Rosie, for I don’t know any other little girl of my own age.”

“You know Laura Lathrop, don’t you?” Rosie asked with a sideways look.

“Yes, but I don’t like her.”

“Nobody likes her,” Rosie said.  “She’s too much of a smarty-cat.  She loves to get people over there and then show off before them.  And then she puts on so many airs.  I won’t have anything to do with her.”

From the open window came the shrill scream of Miss Allison’s parrot.  “What do you think of that?” it called over and over again.

“Isn’t that a clever bird?” Rosie asked admiringly.  “His name is Tony.  I have lots of fun with him.  Did you ever see a parrot that could talk, before?”

“Oh, yes, we have several at Pride’s.”

“Pride’s?”

“Pride’s Crossing.  That’s where we go summers.”

“And what do your parrots say?”

“One talked in French.  He used to say ‘Taisez-vous’ so much that sometimes we would have to put a cover over the cage to stop him.”

“And did you have other animals besides parrots?” Rosie asked.  “I love animals.”

“Oh, yes, we had horses and dogs and cats and rabbits and dancing mice and marmosets and macaws and parokets and—­I guess I’ve forgotten some of them.  But if you like animals, you ought to go to our place in the Adirondacks—­there are deer preserves there and pheasants and peacocks.”

“Who do they belong to?”

“My father.”

Rosie considered this.  “Does he keep a bird-place?” she asked in a puzzled tone.

“No.”  Maida’s tone was a little puzzled too.  She did not know what a bird-place was.

“Well, did he sell them?”

“I don’t think he ever sold any.  He gave a great many away, though.”

When Rosie went home, Maida walked as far as her gate with her.

“Want to know a secret, Maida?” Rosie asked suddenly, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“Oh, yes.  I love secrets.”

“Cross your throat then.”

Maida did not know how to cross her throat but Rosie taught her.

“Well, then,” Rosie whispered, “my mother doesn’t know that I went to your house.  She sent me to bed for being naughty.  And I got up and dressed and climbed out my window on to the shed without anybody knowing it.  She’ll never know the difference.”