“If you wish to converse with me,” she observed haughtily, “please have some one give you an introduction, for, of course, you understand no grown-up young lady can speak to a total stranger.” Think of it! To Billy, too! My goodness, but he was hurt! “Don’t you know Santa Claus, Maida?” asked the old fellow, greatly troubled. She looked at him coldly. “Oh, I know,” she said, “you’re that amusing old myth I met when I was a little girl, long ago.” (And it did seem long ago.) “A myth!” gasped Santa Claus. “Me? Don’t you believe in _me_?” “You must consider me very unsophisticated,” answered Maida. (And the big word didn’t bother her a bit now that she was a grown-up.) “You don’t exist. You couldn’t exist. You’re a figment of the imagination.” There--it was out! She didn’t believe in Santa Claus! Yet there he stood before her. Clearly one had to lose much to be grown up. Poor Billy made one more effort. “Why, you and I used to be such great friends,” he said, smiling sadly at Maida. She tossed her head. “That was long ago,” she answered, “when I was a little girl. Only fancy, I used to like you very much then. So stupid of me, wasn’t it, for you’re only an apprentice, and, of course, you don’t move in our set.” How she hated herself, as she said that. Kokomo approached her, saying something particularly nice in Eskimo, but Maida waved her aside. “I couldn’t be seen talking to a squaw--really you know,” she sniffed; then as Kokomo stepped back staring at her in open-eyed astonishment, she added, “Horrid creatures Indians, aren’t they? Such a bore----” “Oh, little girl, hear me,” said Santa Claus, gravely, and his voice sounded, oh so serious. “Through your lost years listen to Santa Claus, the children’s friend. Was it for _this_ you gave up your childhood?” The little Maida was just dancing away down deep inside. “I don’t know why,” she answered, “but there’s something in your voice that hurts me. You’re making me cry.” Sure enough, she was crying, and every tear was washing away a grain of the grown-up Maida. Then the little girl Maida triumphed and bubbled over. “Save me! Save me!” she screamed; “I don’t want to be grown up. I can’t have any fun and people don’t like me. I’m afraid. Oh, somebody, please wish me a little girl.” It was many years before Maida was a grown-up lady again. Chapter XXIV It was Jack-in-the-Box who did it--her chum and playmate, Jack-in-the-Box, who had seen the wonderful change with great sorrow, and who first heard her cry for her childhood. With one bound he reached the Wishing Post, and presto!--she was a little girl again. Oh, how good it seemed! She felt so much at home. Her clothes just suited her, she knew Santa Claus, she liked Billy, she loved her playmate, Kokomo--oh, she was so happy, so happy. “It’s awful being grown up,” she sobbed, clinging to Billy. “I’ll want years and years to even get used to thinking about it.”