"Wot's she givin' us?" Freckles asked in a perplexed voice. "She's all right," said Flibbertigibbet with the confidence of superior knowledge; "it's a tel'scope; yer can see the moon through, an' yer freckles look to her as big as pie-plates." Freckles crossed herself; it sounded like witches and it had a queer look. "Ask her wot's her name," she suggested. "What's your name?" Flibbertigibbet repeated on her fingers. "Alice Maud Mary Van Ostend." "Gee whiz, ain't that a corker!" Flibbertigibbet exclaimed delightedly. "How old are you?" She proceeded thus with her personal investigation prompted thereto by Freckles. "Most ten;--you?" "Most twelve." "And Freckles?" The Marchioness laughed as she spelled the name. "Eleven." "Ask her if she's an orphant," said Freckles. "Are you an orphan, Freckles says." "Half," came the answer. "What are you?" "Whole," was the reply. "Which is your half?" "I have only papa--I'll introduce him to you sometime when--" This explanation took fully five minutes to decipher, and while they were at work upon it the maid came up behind the Marchioness and, without so much as saying "By your leave", took her down struggling from the window seat and drew the shades. Whereupon Flibbertigibbet rose in her wrath, shook her fist at the insulting personage, and vowed vengeance upon her in her own forceful language: "You're an old cat, and I'll rub your fur the wrong way till the sparks fly." At this awful threat Freckles looked alarmed, and suddenly realized that she was shivering, the result of sitting so long against the cold window. "Come on down," she pleaded with the enraged Flibbertigibbet; and by dint of coaxing and the promise of a green woollen watch-chain, which she had patiently woven, and so carefully, with four pins and an empty spool till it looked like a green worm, she succeeded in getting her away from the dormitory window. V If the _Marchioness of Isola Bella_ had filled many of Flibbertigibbet's dreams during the last six months, the real Alice Maud Mary Van Ostend now filled all her waking hours. Her sole thought was to contrive opportunities for more of this fascinating conversation, and she and Freckles practised daily on the sly in order to say more, and quickly, to the real Marchioness across the way. By good luck they were given a half-hour for themselves just before Christmas, in reward for the conscientious manner in which they made beds, washed dishes, and recited their lessons for an entire week. When Sister Angelica, laying her hand on Flibbertigibbet's shoulder, had asked her what favor she wanted for the good work of that week, the little girl answered promptly enough that she would like to sit with Freckles in the dormitory window and look out on the street, for maybe there might be a hurdy-gurdy with a monkey passing through.