It was phlox season and Laura cut great bunches of blossoms that ran all the shades from white to a deep magenta through pink, vermilion, lavender and purple-blue. But Rosie chose caligulas--changelessly orange; zinnias--purple, garnet, crimson; marigolds--yellow and gold. “Oh how lovely they look,” Laura exclaimed burying her face in the delicately-perfumed mass of phlox. She put her harvest on a rock and helped Rosie with the more difficult work of gathering nasturtiums. The vines and plants were now full of blossoms. It was impossible to keep ahead of them. They picked all they could. “I hope Maida isn’t sick,” Laura said after a while. “I don’t believe she is,” Rosie reassured her. “I wonder if we ought not to go up to her room,” Laura mused. “Let’s!” Rosie reflected. “No, I think we’d better wait until after we’ve come back from the errands. Maida wants to be alone so seldom that I guess we’d better not interrupt her. Besides I heard her slam her door hard and then lock it. I guess that means she doesn’t want anybody around for a time.” “I guess it does too,” Laura agreed. “It isn’t my turn to go to market, but I’m going with you this morning, Rosie. It’ll give Maida a chance to be alone for a while.” The little girls trundled their bicycles out of the barn; mounted them and speeded down the long trail which led to the road. In the meantime, Maida still remained in her room. She made her bed with fierce determined motions, as though it were a work of destruction rather than construction. She dusted her bureau with swift slapping strokes. Then she sat down by the window. Why was she cross, she didn’t know; but undoubtedly she _was_ cross. She didn’t want to go anywhere; she didn’t want to play games; to see anybody; least of all to talk. Why--when ordinarily she was so sociable, she should have this feeling she had no idea. Nevertheless it was there. From various directions, sound of voices came to her; Rosie’s and Laura’s from the garden; the boys from the barn; the little children from House Rock. Rosie and Laura were nearer, but she could not hear what they were saying. And of course she made no attempt to listen. Later she heard them go around to the barn--she knew they were off on the morning marketing. Still Maida continued to sit listlessly looking out of the window. A long time seemed to go by. Presently she heard in the distance, the sound of Laura and Rosie returning. They were evidently in a great state of excitement. She could hear them chattering about something as they came up the trail to the house. She did not feel like talking, but she knew it was her duty to meet them, to apologize for her rudeness, to go on with the usual games of the day. She caught the rattle with which the two girls put their bicycles in place; then their swift rush to the kitchen. At the door she got in Rosie’s high excited tones, “Where’s Maida, Granny?” “Still upstairs,” Granny answered. “I haven’t heard her stir.”