What Maisie Knew

What Maisie Knew

she put out her hand to her stepfather. He took it and held it a moment, and their eyes met as the eyes of those who have done for each other what they can. “Good-bye,” he repeated.

“Good-bye.” And Maisie followed Mrs. Wix.

They caught the steamer, which was just putting off, and, hustled across the gulf, found themselves on the deck so breathless and so scared that they gave up half the voyage to letting their emotion sink. It sank slowly and imperfectly; but at last, in mid-channel, surrounded by the quiet sea, Mrs. Wix had courage to revert. “I didn’t look back, did you?”

“Yes. He wasn’t there,” said Maisie. “Not on the balcony?”

Maisie waited a moment; then “He wasn’t there” she simply said again.

Mrs. Wix also was silent a while. “He went to her,” she finally observed.

“Oh I know!” the child replied.

Mrs. Wix gave a sidelong look. She still had room for wonder at what Maisie knew.

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