“That was before my illness,” Maida explained to the other children, “when I was so lame.” “I told your father,” Aunt Save went on, “that there was only one thing that could save you. And that was to go South and live with us in the piny woods and be a little Romany for a year. But he couldn’t seem to let you go for so long.” “Oh Aunt Save!” Maida exclaimed. “How I would have loved that! However it all came out right because father gave me my Little Shop and I made all these new friends.” CHAPTER VII TWILIGHT “I think that Silva Burle was just horrid!” Rosie burst out suddenly. “Just horrid!” she repeated with an enraged accent. “I never took such a dislike to a girl in my life. I just simply despise her!” The three little girls were in the rose garden. It was just after luncheon and Granny Flynn had said they must do something in the way of quiet exercise, before they went to swim in the Magic Mirror. They had decided to decorate the house with flowers. “She was rather horrid, wasn’t she?” Maida agreed absently. “So was her brother.” “You expect boys to have bad manners,” Laura commented scathingly, “but a girl ought to behave herself better than that. She made me so mad I wanted to stick my tongue out at her.” “I wanted to box her ears,” announced Rosie fiercely. “She seemed to take such a dislike to us--just on sight!” Maida went on. “I don’t understand it. We didn’t do anything to her. We--” “Why we’d never even seen her before,” Rosie interrupted in a crescendo of irritation. “She acted as though,” Maida went straight on, “she was afraid of us for some reason, as though she thought we were going to do--” She paused--“well I don’t know what,” she concluded. “I hope we never see the disagreeable thing again,” Laura said. “We probably will,” Maida declared. “We’ll be going to the gypsy camp all the time, but of course she won’t come to the Little House.” “If she does,” Rosie threatened, “I’ll tell her to go home.” Rosie looked cross and she was cross. Ever since the return from the gypsy camp her tempestuous brows had not smoothed out their knots. Her eyes alternately burned and flashed and her cheeks were like red roses on fire. Characteristically--because she wore red whenever she could--Rosie had gathered only the crimson roses. She held a great bunch of them now, and she stood stripping them of their thorns. Laura’s roses were pink; Maida’s yellow. “I should think this would be enough,” Maida suggested in a moment. “Let’s put them in the vases.” “Shall we mix them all together?” Rosie asked. “One color to each room is really prettier. Just think how lovely the living room will be with these great red roses everywhere.” “Rosie, you shall decide where the flowers go to-day, and the next time Laura, and the next time me. That’s the only fair way,” Maida declared.