"It wasn't open, only there was a sort of door in the shutters that Lizzie always went in and out by on Sunday mornings. I know that, because there was a picture of it--I remember now where I read the story--it was in a big picture magazine when I was quite a little girl," said Maudie. "And this young woman was tidying the shop a little, and just going to shut it altogether when Lizzie went in. She was a good-natured young woman and she looked in the money books for the lady's name, but it wasn't in--only the name of the man the room belonged to where the breakfast was--and then she asked Lizzie what she wanted to know for, and Lizzie told her. The young woman told her she was very silly to think of giving it back. She said to her that certainly the lady had _given_ it her, it wasn't even as if she had found it. And Lizzie could not say that was not true, and she felt so puzzled at first that she didn't know what to say. The young woman offered to change it for her so that nobody could wonder how she had got a gold piece, but Lizzie said she would think about it first. And then she went home, and thought, and thought, till at last it came quite plain into her mind that though it was true that the lady had given it her, still it was _more_ true that she hadn't meant to give it her. And then she didn't feel so unhappy." Maudie stopped for a moment. It had turned out quite a long story, and she was a little tired. "And what did she do then? Quick, Maudie," said Hoodie. "What did her do? Kick, kick, Maudie," said the little boys. "Hush, children, don't hurry Maudie so. Let her rest a minute," said Cousin Magdalen; "she must be a little tired with speaking so long."