With that Annie Stone went her way, with soft flounces of her short, stout body, and Maria was left.  She was still defiant; her blood was up.  “Sister’s little honey love,” she said to the baby, in a tone so loud that Annie Stone must have heard.  “Were folks that didn’t have anything but naughty little brothers jealous of her?” Annie Stone had, in fact, a notorious little brother, who at the early age of seven was the terror of his sisters and all law-abiding citizens; but Annie Stone was not easily touched.

“Sister’s little honey love,” she shouted back, turning a malignant face over her shoulder.  She had that very morning had a hand-to-hand fight with her naughty little brother, and finally come out victorious, by forcing him to the ground and sitting on him until he said he was sorry.  It was not very reasonable that she should be at all sensitive with regard to him.

After Annie Stone had gone out of sight, Maria went around to the front of the little carriage, adjusted the white fur rug carefully, secured a tiny, white mitten on one of the baby’s hands, and whispered to the baby alone.  “You are sister’s little honey love, aren’t you, precious?” and the baby smiled that entrancing smile of honesty and innocence which sent the dimples spreading to the lace frill of her cap, and reached out her arms, thereby displacing both mittens, which Maria adjusted; then, after a fervent kiss, she went her way.

However, she was not that afternoon to proceed on her way long uninterrupted.  For some time Josephine, the nurse-girl, had either been growing jealous, or chocolates were palling upon her.  Josephine had also found her own home locked up, and the key nowhere in evidence.  There would be a good half-hour to wait at the usual corner for Maria.  The wind had changed, and blew cold from the northwest.  Josephine was not very warmly clad.  She wore her white gown and apron, which Mrs. Edgham insisted upon, and which she resented.  She had that day felt a stronger sense of injury with regard to it, and counted upon telling her mother how mean and set up she thought it was for any lady as called herself a lady to make a girl wear a summer white dress in winter.  She shivered on her corner of waiting.  Josephine got more and more wroth.  Finally she decided to start in search of Maria and the baby.  She gave her white skirts an angry switch and started.  It was not very long after she had turned her second corner before she saw Maria and the baby ahead of her.  Josephine then ran.  She was a stout girl, and she plunged ahead heavily until she came up with Maria.  The first thing Maria knew, Josephine had grabbed the handle of the carriage—­two red girl hands appeared beside her own small, gloved ones.

“Here, gimme this baby to once,” gabbled Josephine in the thick speech of her kind.

Maria looked at her.  “The time isn’t up, and you know it isn’t, Josephine,” said she.  “I just passed by a clock in Melvin & Adams’s jewelry store, and it isn’t time for me to be on the corner.”