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Particularly because it’s so little.” “Little!” Laura bristled. “I don’t think it’s so very little. It’s the biggest doll-house I ever saw. Did you ever see a bigger one?” Maida looked embarrassed. “Only one.” “Whose was it?” “It was the one my father had built for me at Pride’s. It was too big to be a doll’s house. It was really a small cottage.
On one side was the river with the draw-bridge, the Navy Yard and the monument on Bunker Hill. On the other stretched the smoky expanse of Boston with the golden dome of the state house gleaming in the midst of a huge, red-brick huddle. “Did you have a cupola at Pride’s Crossing?” Laura asked triumphantly. “Oh, no—how I wish I had!” Laura beamed again.
I’ve bought her prize ponies, prize dogs and prize cats—rabbits, guinea-pigs, dancing mice, talking parrots, marmosets—there’s a young menagerie at the place in the Adirondacks. I’ve had a doll-house and a little theater built for her at Pride’s. She has her own carriage, her own automobile, her own railroad car. She can have her own flying-machine if she wants it. I’ve taken her off on trips.
From the open window came the shrill scream of Miss Allison’s parrot. “What do you think of that?” it called over and over again. “Isn’t that a clever bird?” Rosie asked admiringly. “His name is Tony. I have lots of fun with him. Did you ever see a parrot that could talk, before?” “Oh, yes, we have several at Pride’s.” “Pride’s?” “Pride’s Crossing. That’s where we go summers.”
“Maida?” the girl repeated questioningly. “Maida?—oh, yes, I know—Maida Flynn. Where did you live before you came here?” “Oh, lots of places.” “But where?” Laura persisted. “Boston, New York, Newport, Pride’s Crossing, the Adirondacks, Europe.” “Oh, my! Have you been to Europe?” Laura’s tone was a little incredulous. “I lived abroad a year.” “Can you speak French?”
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