Of course she made a mistake in not wishing her dress to be grown up too. Still, she reflected, it wouldn’t take long to set _that_ right when once she returned home. Home--that was the thing--_how_ was she to get home? She realized with great embarrassment--to the new Maida--that for a grown-up lady to sit about under the North Pole with a lot of strangers was a most improper proceeding. Did you ever have one of those dreams in which you found yourself out on the street in a nightie and a fur cap--or in a ballroom in a bathing-suit? And you couldn’t get away, and you couldn’t get clothes--my! it was just dreadful!--and you woke up blushing for shame?--That’s _just_ the way Maida felt. She didn’t know where the dressmakers lived, and she had no chaperone nor any place to go and shut herself in and say “not at home” if anyone called. Finally she decided to write a letter home asking them to send for her--so she spoke to a boy who chanced to be passing--one of the very boys, by the way, who had teased the Page to sell her. It gave her a most unpleasant sensation to note that her voice sounded different,--oh, so different; and she also noticed that while she wanted to be kind and friendly her tone was haughty, and her attitude severe. The old Maida, the little girl, would have smiled and asked “Say, boy, where’s the post-office?” Then the boy would have grinned, and stood first on one foot, then on the other, and mauled his cap about, blushing a bit--then he’d have told her. That’s the way she wanted to speak. That’s what she meant to say. But _this_ is what the boy heard: “Come here, boy! Is there a post-office in this outlandish place? If there is, I wish you’d tell me where to find it.” And she _had_ to say it that way; she couldn’t help herself. “Decidedly,” she said to herself (that is the little girl Maida said ’way down deep), “if I had met myself grown up when I was a child--I would never have wished to be _me_.” This may seem very obscure, but if you puzzle it out you’ll see it meant just what she thought. But the boy--well, he was rather naughty. He simply made a face at her and ran away. Just then Santa Claus bustled up to her with Billy following him. Both had recovered their clothes and thrown away the old rags--so Billy looked just as nice and Santa Claus just as jolly and rubicund as ever. “Well,” chuckled the sprightly old fellow, “I see you’ve had your wish.” Maida wanted to be nice--but alas--the “little girl” was hidden down so deep she just _had_ to step back and look at him coldly, saying, “Excuse me, I haven’t the pleasure of your acquaintance.” How Santa Claus did stare! So Billy came up to her, his friendly face shining with joy. “Hello!” he said. The child Maida was just aching to take his hand, and cling to him, but before it could happen another cold speech fell from her lips.