“Not only a next summer, but next summers,” a voice said back of them. They all started and then jumped to their feet. Mr. Westabrook, coming in very quietly, had apparently caught much of their discussion. “A whole line of summers, all in a row,” he added as he took the easy chair which Arthur pushed into the middle of the circle for him. He helped himself to popcorn from the plate which Rosie filled and placed in his lap; took one of the apples which Laura offered him; a piece of the molasses candy which Tyma pressed upon him. “You’ve got a permanent engagement with us every summer.” Again Rosie did what Dicky had threatened to do--she jumped up and down. Laura danced the whole length of the room, turning out one after another a series of the most beautiful pirouettes. Silva did not move except to lean forward and stare intently at Mr. Westabrook. The boys drew their chairs in a circle closer about him. “So you don’t think schools are very interesting?” Buffalo Westabrook went on, bending his eagle glance on Arthur. “Not any I have ever been to,” Arthur answered promptly. “Do you think they could be made interesting?” Mr. Westabrook went on. “I’m not sure they could,” Arthur answered. But Rosie broke in with an impulsive, “Of course they could.” “How?” Mr. Westabrook asked with his disturbing brevity. “By letting you study the things you want, in the way you want to study them,” Rosie answered immediately. “I guess that’s as good an answer as I could get,” Mr. Westabrook admitted. “What would you say,” he went on very slowly after a pause, “if we tried to have such a school as that _here_?” He continued apparently unconscious of the excitement which was developing in his hearers. “A school where, as Rosie says, you could study the things you want to study, in the way you want to study them. A school with plenty of books to read and dictionaries and encyclopedias and books of reference to consult. A book with all the newest maps and globes. A school with plenty of travel and discovery and exploration. A school with gardens to grow. A school with a magic lantern, an aquarium, and--” Maida could contain herself no longer. “Father,” she burst out, “you’re going to have such a school for us!” “I’ve got it,” Buffalo announced. “And you’re all going to that school this winter.” “Oh my goodness,” Rosie said in a quiet awed voice, “if anything else happens I shall die of happiness.” “Do our fathers and mothers know?” Laura asked. “Know,” Mr. Westabrook repeated, though very tranquilly, “they helped to decide what you should study there.” “And we won’t be separated after all,” Dicky declared in a voice shaken with happiness. “No.” “What’s the name of the school?” Harold asked. “It hasn’t any name yet,” Mr. Westabrook answered. “I know what to call it,” Arthur said, his face lighting up. “We’ve had _Maida’s Little Shop_ and _Maida’s Little House_. Why not call it _Maida’s Little School_?” THE END