Fairy Godmother deposited Maggie on the lovely blue center of the loveliest-of-all rugs--Tilda’s feet were loth to tread on any of them. Then she touched a funny little button, and, presto! it was just like Arabian Nights, excepting it wasn’t one of the _genii_ that appeared--only a pretty, rosy-cheeked woman, in the tiniest white cap and apron. She stood in the doorway, looking so surprised at the little strangers that Tilda became suddenly conscious of the patches in her gingham frock, and the places where there _should_ have been patches in her shoes.