“Nesta,” Maida said. “What a sweet name! I’ll go to-morrow morning at--” And then the telephone rang again. Maida took the message. “It’s Floribel,” she announced in a serious voice. “They’ve lost the last train. We’ve got to get breakfast.” “If we’re going to get up as early as that,” Laura declared, “I’m going to bed now. I’m so tired that I’m cross.” “I told you things always go by three’s,” Rosie triumphantly reminded them. CHAPTER XXIII SILVA’S STORY When Maida woke up the next morning, it was to the sound of a baby’s crying. It was not however a sick cry; it was a sleepy cry. She glanced swiftly at the clock; then jumped out of bed. Rosie was standing in the doorway, Nesta, wearing one of Delia’s nightgowns, in her arms. “You never woke me up, Rosie Brine,” Maida accused her friend. “I tried to,” Rosie replied. “Honest I did. But you couldn’t seem to wake up. And when I realized what a day you had yesterday and what a day might be before you, I thought it would be better to let you sleep. Laura and I got breakfast. We’ve given the baby her bath and I am now taking her to bed.” Maida kissed the little curly, dusky head. “She looks fine,” she said approvingly. “I’m so glad I can give Silva such good news.” “What time did you say you had to call there?” “Ten o’clock.” “It’s now half past eight,” Rosie said. “And here comes Laura with your breakfast.” As Rosie disappeared with her sleeping burden, Laura appeared at the stairs carrying a tray. “Hop back into bed, Maida Westabrook,” she said serenely. “You’re going to have your breakfast in bed this morning--like a princess.” Maida meekly hopped back as ordered and Laura placed the tray on the bed in front of her. On it, the peel so divided that it looked like a great golden-petaled flower, was an orange; a dish of oatmeal; an egg in an egg cup; two pieces of toast; a small pitcher of milk; sugar. Around the plate was wreathed nasturtiums, flowers and leaves. “Oh how good it looks!” Maida said; and then after a few moments of enthusiastic eating, “Oh, how good it _tastes_! How dainty you’ve made this tray, Laura! I’m sure you’re going to be the best housekeeper among us. You like housekeeping, don’t you?” “I just love it,” Laura replied. “I hate it.” Rosie who now reappeared in the doorway, declared emphatically. “I wish you could buy blocks of dishes the way you buy blocks of paper; so’s you could tear off a clean set for every meal; then burn them up. I wish you could buy blocks of clothes just the same way.” “What a queer thing you are, Rosie!” Laura exclaimed. “I just love to have pretty things, crocheted and knit and embroidered--dainty china and glass--and keep everything neat and shining.”