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Updated: July 5, 2025
Everywhere in Malate, Ermita, Paco, and, for that matter, the barracks and quarters of Manila, the astonishing story was the topic of all tongues that day. Among the regulars by this time the tale of Foster's devotion to Maidie Ray was well known, while that of Stuyvesant's later but assiduous courtship was rapidly spreading.
Stannard and Grace with the dark-eyed cavalryman, and those dark eyes of his sought hers every other minute. They tried to get him to talk of his ride. Even Grace, declaring that he must, and turning laughingly to her friend, exclaimed, "Come, Maidie, add your plea. You have a right to know how your colors went;" and Miss Sanford's face flamed with its sudden blush, but she spoke no word. Mrs.
Brent was that now, when Maidie could sit up a few hours each day and see certain among the officers' wives, arriving by almost every steamer from the States, and have happy chats with Sandy every time he could come galloping in from Paco, and was taking delight in watching the parades and reviews on the Bagumbayan, and listening to the evening music of the band, Stuyvesant had ceased to call.
Perhaps some reader who does not know a little girl her psychology, after that account of the Alvediston maidie who presented me with a flower with an arch expression on her face just bordering on a mocking smile, will say, "What a sophisticated child to be sure!"
Nothing but eating and playing, with no Higher Thoughts. A man has just gone by. For a moment I thought I recognised the footstep. But no, it was but the night watchman. JANUARY 17TH. Father still away. No money, as mother absolutely refuses on account of Maidie Mackenzie's gown, which she had to send away to be repaired. JANUARY 18TH. Father still away.
She sorely wanted a talk with Sandy that evening, but the Belgic had come in from 'Frisco only six hours before they sailed and huge bags of letters and papers were transferred from her to the Sacramento. There were letters for Maidie and Sandy both, several, but there was one bulky missive for him that she knew to be from her father, from far-away Tampa, and the boy had come down late to dinner.
Maidie turned a languid head on her pillow. "In the upper drawer of the cabinet in my room, I think," said she. "I remember Mrs. Brent's examining it."
There was an old servant, Jeanie Robertson, who was forty years in her grandfather's family. Marjorie Fleming or as she is called in the letters and by Sir Walter, Maidie was the last child she kept. Jeanie's wages never exceeded £3 a year, and when she left service she had saved £40.
Maidie! with all my life and strength I love you. Have you not one little word for me?" "What must I say?" she murmured, at last, still shrouding her eyes. "Say, 'Will, I think I love you just a little." No answer.
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