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was no point in writing about, or even thinking about, the worst day of her life.
before that —
    Maud stared at the unfinished sentence. She recalled Hyacinth saying poor little thing! in that sweet, piteous voice. Tears welled up in Maud’s eyes. She concentrated on hearing the echo of Hyacinth’s voice, reliving that moment of sympathy.
because before that, I never met you. You are like my fairy godmother.
    The rest of the empty page yawned before Maud. She eyed the clock, wishing it were time for supper. She knew there would be scalloped potatoes; she had helped Muffet peel and slice them. She dipped her pen in ink, determined to finish the letter.
Aunt Victoria says I do a good job dusting and that my table manners are improving. I do not wolf my food as bad as I did. Yesterday when I was getting the silverware for dinner, I heard Muffet. She was backing up so fast she banged the table. There was a great big spider on the floor. With its legs it was as big as a tablespoon, the round part I mean, not the handle. Muffet was so frightened she was crying. I never saw a grown-up person as scared as that. I felt sorry for her so I stamped on it hard and it was horrid because it made a disgusting smear on the floor. But Muffet stopped crying and she ran to me and put her hands on my arms. I thought she was going to shake me but she didn’t. I think what she meant was she was glad I killed it. Then last night we had Floating Island and that is my favorite pudding. I didn’t think she would know what I like to eat because she can’t hear, but I guess Aunt Victoria is right and being deaf doesn’t mean she’s stupid.
My hand is tired now. Please come home soon. Or if you can’t, please, please, please write me a letter.
                                           Your loving —
    Maud paused. Should she write daughter ?
                                           Your loving girl,
                                           Maud Mary Flynn

M aud had never liked Sundays. At the Barbary Asylum, Sunday was a day of the utmost tedium, with church all morning and enforced silence in the afternoon. Maud was pained to discover that Sundays with the Hawthorne sisters followed a similar pattern. In the morning, Victoria read aloud from the New Testament and selected a psalm for Maud to memorize. In the afternoon, the sisters received callers, which meant that Maud was confined to the third floor.
    On the Sunday five weeks after her arrival, it rained so hard that no one was likely to call. Maud was allowed to learn her psalm in the back parlor. The sisters sat by the fire. Judith read the newspaper while Victoria refurbished an ancient bonnet.
    Maud eyed the bonnet speculatively. It was horribly out of fashion, and she wondered if Victoria could be dissuaded from wearing it. Victoria was not elegant like Hyacinth or distinguished-looking like Judith, but Maud saw no reason why she should look as dowdy as she did.
    “Aunt Victoria,” Maud began coaxingly, “wouldn’t it be easier to buy a new hat than to trim that old bonnet?”
    Victoria pushed her spectacles higher on her nose, as if by doing so she could come to grips with Maud.
    “If you wore a hat instead of a bonnet, you could do your hair in a pompadour,” persisted Maud. “Pompadours are stylish. And a pompadour would make your face look taller.”
    Judith snapped the newspaper against her lap. “Maud Flynn! Weren’t you given a psalm to memorize?”
    “Yes, ma’am,” Maud said, “but I’m almost finished. I’m up to the part where God breaks the teeth of the ungodly.”
    Judith sniffed. The doorbell chimed. The two sisters looked at each other in surprise. Maud sprang up and set the Bible on the parlor table.
    “I wonder who’s calling in this rain.” Victoria stuffed the bonnet into her sewing basket. “I’ll get it, Judith.” She