“Two thousand dollars.”  Maida said this with a guilty air in spite of her knowledge of her own truth.

Rosie smiled roguishly.  “Maida, dear,” she coaxed, “you dreamed it.”

Maida started to her feet.  For a moment she came near saying something very saucy indeed.  But she remembered in time.  Of course nobody in the neighborhood knew that she was “Buffalo” Westabrook’s daughter.  It was impossible for her to prove any of her statements.  The flash died out of her eyes.  But another flash came into her cheeks—­the flash of dimples.

“Well, perhaps I did dream it, Rosie,” she said archly.  “But I don’t think I did,” she added in a quiet voice.

Rosie turned the subject tactfully.  “What are you going to give your father?” she asked.

“That’s bothering me dreadfully,” Maida sighed; “I can’t think of anything he needs.”

“Why don’t you buy him the same thing I’m going to get my papa,” Rosie suggested eagerly.  “That is, I’m going to buy it if I make enough money at the fair.  Does your father shave himself?”

“Oh, Adolph, his valet, always shaves him,” Maida answered.

Rosie’s brow knit over the word valet—­but Maida was always puzzling the neighborhood with strange expressions.  Then her brow lightened.  “My father goes to a barber, too,” she said.  “I’ve heard him complaining lots of times how expensive it is.  And the other day Arthur told me about a razor his father uses.  He says it’s just like a lawn-mower or a carpet-sweeper.  You don’t have to have anybody shave you if you have one of them.  You run it right over your face and it takes all the beard off and doesn’t cut or anything.  Now, wouldn’t you think that would be fun?”

“I should think it would be just lovely,” Maida agreed.  “That’s just the thing for papa—­for he is so busy.  How much does it cost, Rosie?”

“About a dollar, Arthur thought.  I never paid so much for a Christmas present in my life.  And I’m not sure yet that I can get one.  But if I do sell two dollars worth of candy, I can buy something perfectly beautiful for both father and mother.”

“Oh, Rosie,” Maida asked breathlessly, “do you mean that your mother’s come back?”

Rosie’s face changed.  “Don’t you think I’d tell you that the first thing?  No, she hasn’t come back and they don’t say anything about her coming back.  But if she ever does come, I guess I’m going to have her Christmas present all ready for her.”

Maida patted her hand.  “She’s coming back,” she said; “I know it.”

Rosie sighed.  “You come down Main Street the night before Christmas.  Dicky and I are going to buy our Christmas presents then and we can show you where to get the little razor.”

“I’d love to.”  Maida beamed.  And indeed, it seemed the most fascinating prospect in the world to her.  Every night after she went to bed, she thought it over.  She was really going to buy Christmas presents without any grown-up person about to interfere.  It was rapture.