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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:51:20 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:51:20 -0700 |
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diff --git a/17530-h/17530-h.htm b/17530-h/17530-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9e4c004 --- /dev/null +++ b/17530-h/17530-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9885 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="en"> +<head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8" /> + + <title>The Project Gutenberg EBook of Maida’s Little Shop by Inez Hayes Irwin</title> + <link rel='coverpage' href='images/cover.jpg' /> + <style type="text/css"> + /*<![CDATA[*/ + <!-- + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; max-width: 40.0em;} + p {text-align: justify;} + p.heading {text-align: center; font-weight: bold;} + p.center {text-align: center;} + blockquote {text-align: justify; font-size: 0.9em;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + h5 {margin-top: -1.5em} + pre {font-size: 1.0em;} + .note {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .noteBox {border-style: solid; border-width: thin; + padding-left: 1em; padding-right: 1em} + .illustrations {font-size: 0.9em;} + .returnTOC {text-align: right; font-size: 70%;} + hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} + html>body hr {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + hr.short {text-align: center; width: 20%;} + html>body hr.short {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;} + .sc {font-variant: small-caps;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; color: gray; font-size: 0.7em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; text-align: right;} + .returnTOC {text-align: right; font-size: 70%;} + .fnanchor {font-size: smaller; vertical-align: 2px;} + .poem {margin-left:20%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom:1em; text-align:left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .figcenter {padding:1em; margin:auto; clear:both; text-align:center; font-size:0.8em;} + .figcenter p {margin: 0; text-indent: 1em;} + ul.TOC {list-style-type: none; position: relative; width: 85%;} + .TOC p {font-size:90%; margin-top: 0; margin-right: 4%;} + span.ralign {position: absolute; right: 0; top: auto;} + a:link {color: blue; text-decoration: none} + link {color: blue; text-decoration: none} + a:visited {color: blue; text-decoration: none} + a:hover {color: red} + // --> + /*]]>*/ + </style> +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAIDA'S LITTLE SHOP ***</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 428px;"> + <img src="images/fpiece.png" width="400" alt="Illustration: Maida’s Little Shop" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<div style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 4.00em; margin-top: 4.00em;"> + <h1>Maida’s Little Shop</h1> + <br />by<br /> + <span style="font-size: 140%;"> + Inez Haynes Irwin<br /> + </span> + <br /><br /><br /> + <span style="font-size: 80%"> + Author of<br /> + MAIDA'S LITTLE HOUSE,<br /> + MAIDA'S LITTLE SCHOOL, ETC. + </span> + <br /><br /> + <div class="figcenter" style="width: 428px;"> + <img src="images/title.png" width="80" alt="Illustration: Image of Girl" title="" /> + </div> + <br /><br /> + <span style="font-size: 120%"> + Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers<br /> + New York + </span> + <br /><br /> + <span style="font-size: 80%;"> + Copyright, 1909, by<br /> + B. W. HUEBSCH + </span> +</div> + +<hr class="full"/> + +<div> + <p style="margin-bottom: 2.00em; margin-top: 2.00em; text-align: center;"> + TO<br /> + LITTLE P. D.<br /> + FROM<br /> + BIG P. D. + </p> +</div> + +<hr class="full" /> + + <p> <a name="Contents" id="Contents"></a></p> + <p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 150%">Contents</span></p> + + <ul class="TOC" style="list-style-type:upper-roman;margin-left:1em;font-variant:small-caps;"> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_I">The Ride + <span class="ralign">9</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_II">Cleaning Up + <span class="ralign">30</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_III">The First Day + <span class="ralign">49</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">The Second Day + <span class="ralign">75</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_V">Primrose Court + <span class="ralign">98</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">Two Calls + <span class="ralign">116</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">Trouble + <span class="ralign">138</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">A Rainy Day + <span class="ralign">161</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">Work + <span class="ralign">182</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_X">Play + <span class="ralign">202</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Halloween + <span class="ralign">223</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">The First Snow + <span class="ralign">243</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">The Fair + <span class="ralign">259</span></a></li> + <li><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">Christmas Happenings + <span class="ralign">275</span></a></li> + </ul> + + +<hr class="full" /> + +<p style="text-align: center; font-size: 230%;">Maida’s Little Shop</p> + +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> +<h3>THE RIDE</h3> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>Four people sat in the big, shining automobile. +Three of them were men. +The fourth was a little girl. The little +girl’s name was Maida Westabrook. The +three men were “Buffalo” Westabrook, her +father, Dr. Pierce, her physician, and Billy +Potter, her friend. They were coming +from Marblehead to Boston.</p> + +<p>Maida sat in one corner of the back seat +gazing dreamily out at the whirling country. +She found it very beautiful and very curious. +They were going so fast that all the +reds and greens and yellows of the autumn +trees melted into one variegated band. A +moment later they came out on the ocean. +And now on the water side were two other +streaks of color, one a spongy blue that was +sky, another a clear shining blue that was +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +sea. Maida half-shut her eyes and the +whole world seemed to flash by in ribbons.</p> + +<p>“May I get out for a moment, papa?” she +asked suddenly in a thin little voice. “I’d +like to watch the waves.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” her father answered briskly. +To the chauffeur he said, “Stop here, Henri.” +To Maida, “Stay as long as you want, +Posie.”</p> + +<p>“Posie” was Mr. Westabrook’s pet-name +for Maida.</p> + +<p>Billy Potter jumped out and helped Maida +to the ground. The three men watched her +limp to the sea-wall.</p> + +<p>She was a child whom you would have noticed +anywhere because of her luminous, +strangely-quiet, gray eyes and because of +the ethereal look given to her face by a floating +mass of hair, pale-gold and tendrilly. +And yet I think you would have known that +she was a sick little girl at the first glance. +When she moved, it was with a great slowness +as if everything tired her. She was +so thin that her hands were like claws and +her cheeks scooped in instead of out. She +was pale, too, and somehow her eyes looked +too big. Perhaps this was because her little +heart-shaped face seemed too small. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> + +<p>“You’ve got to find something that will +take up her mind, Jerome,” Dr. Pierce said, +lowering his voice, “and you’ve got to be +quick about it. Just what Greinschmidt +feared has come—that languor—that lack of +interest in everything. You’ve got to find +something for her to <span style="font-style: italic">do</span>.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Pierce spoke seriously. He was a +round, short man, just exactly as long any +one way as any other. He had springy gray +curls all over his head and a nose like a +button. Maida thought that he looked like +a very old but a very jolly and lovable baby. +When he laughed—and he was always +laughing with Maida—he shook all over like +jelly that has been turned out of a jar. His +very curls bobbed. But it seemed to Maida +that no matter how hard he chuckled, his +eyes were always serious when they rested +on her.</p> + +<p>Maida was very fond of Dr. Pierce. She +had known him all her life. He had gone +to college with her father. He had taken +care of her health ever since Dr. Greinschmidt +left. Dr. Greinschmidt was the +great physician who had come all the way +across the ocean from Germany to make +Maida well. Before the operation Maida +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +could not walk. Now she could walk easily. +Ever since she could remember she had always +added to her prayers at night a special +request that she might some day be like +other little girls. Now she was like other +little girls, except that she limped. And yet +now that she could do all the things that +other little girls did, she no longer cared to +do them—not even hopping and skipping, +which she had always expected would be the +greatest fun in the world. Maida herself +thought this very strange.</p> + +<p>“But what can I find for her to do?” +“Buffalo” Westabrook said.</p> + +<p>You could tell from the way he asked this +question that he was not accustomed to take +advice from other people. Indeed, he did +not look it. But he looked his name. You +would know at once why the cartoonists always +represented him with the head of a +buffalo; why, gradually, people had forgotten +that his first name was Jerome and referred +to him always as “Buffalo” Westabrook.</p> + +<p>Like the buffalo, his head was big and +powerful and emerged from the midst of a +shaggy mane. But it was the way in which +it was set on his tremendous shoulders that +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +gave him his nickname. When he spoke to +you, he looked as if he were about to charge. +And the glance of his eyes, set far back of a +huge nose, cut through you like a pair of +knives.</p> + +<p>It surprised Maida very much when she +found that people stood in awe of her father. +It had never occurred to her to be afraid of +him.</p> + +<p>“I’ve racked my brains to entertain her,” +“Buffalo” Westabrook went on. “I’ve +bought her every gimcrack that’s made for +children—her nursery looks like a toy factory. +I’ve bought her prize ponies, prize +dogs and prize cats—rabbits, guinea-pigs, +dancing mice, talking parrots, marmosets—there’s +a young menagerie at the place in the +Adirondacks. I’ve had a doll-house and a +little theater built for her at Pride’s. She +has her own carriage, her own automobile, +her own railroad car. She can have her own +flying-machine if she wants it. I’ve taken +her off on trips. I’ve taken her to the +theater and the circus. I’ve had all kinds of +nurses and governesses and companions, but +they’ve been mostly failures. Granny +Flynn’s the best of the hired people, but of +course Granny’s old. I’ve had other children +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +come to stay with her. Selfish little +brutes they all turned out to be! They’d +play with her toys and ignore her completely. +And this fall I brought her to Boston, +hoping her cousins would rouse her. +But the Fairfaxes decided suddenly to go +abroad this winter. If she’d only express a +desire for something, I’d get it for her—if +it were one of the moons of Jupiter.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t anything you can <span style="font-style: italic">give</span> her,” Dr. +Pierce said impatiently; “you must find +something for her to <span style="font-style: italic">do</span>.”</p> + +<p>“Say, Billy, you’re an observant little +duck. Can’t you tell us what’s the matter?” +“Buffalo” Westabrook smiled down +at the third man of the party.</p> + +<p>“The trouble with the child,” Billy Potter +said promptly, “is that everything she’s +had has been ‘prize.’ Not that it’s spoiled +her at all. Petronilla is as simple as a +princess in a fairy-tale.”</p> + +<p>“Petronilla” was Billy Potter’s pet-name +for Maida.</p> + +<p>“Yes, she’s wonderfully simple,” Dr. +Pierce agreed. “Poor little thing, she’s +lived in a world of bottles and splints and +bandages. She’s never had a chance to realize +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +either the value or the worthlessness of +things.”</p> + +<p>“And then,” Billy went on, “nobody’s +ever used an ounce of imagination in entertaining +the poor child.”</p> + +<p>“Imagination!” “Buffalo” Westabrook +growled. “What has imagination to do +with it?”</p> + +<p>Billy grinned.</p> + +<p>Next to her father and Granny Flynn, +Maida loved Billy Potter better than anybody +in the world. He was so little that she +could never decide whether he was a boy or a +man. His chubby, dimply face was the +pinkest she had ever seen. From it twinkled +a pair of blue eyes the merriest she had +ever seen. And falling continually down +into his eyes was a great mass of flaxen hair, +the most tousled she had ever seen.</p> + +<p>Billy Potter lived in New York. He +earned his living by writing for newspapers +and magazines. Whenever there was a fuss +in Wall Street—and the papers always +blamed “Buffalo” Westabrook if this happened—Billy +Potter would have a talk with +Maida’s father. Then he wrote up what +Mr. Westabrook said and it was printed +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +somewhere. Men who wrote for the newspapers +were always trying to talk with Mr. +Westabrook. Few of them ever got the +chance. But “Buffalo” Westabrook never +refused to talk with Billy Potter. Indeed, +the two men were great friends.</p> + +<p>“He’s one of the few reporters who can +turn out a good story and tell it straight as +I give it to him,” Maida had once heard her +father say. Maida knew that Billy could +turn out good stories—he had turned out a +great many for her.</p> + +<p>“What has imagination to do with it?” +Mr. Westabrook repeated.</p> + +<p>“It would have a great deal to do with it, +I fancy,” Billy Potter answered, “if somebody +would only imagine the right thing.”</p> + +<p>“Well, imagine it yourself,” Mr. Westabrook +snarled. “Imagination seems to be +the chief stock-in-trade of you newspaper +men.”</p> + +<p>Billy grinned. When Billy smiled, two +things happened—one to you and the other +to him. Your spirits went up and his eyes +seemed to disappear. Maida said that Billy’s +eyes “skrinkled up.” The effect was so +comic that she always laughed—not with +him but at him. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> + +<p>“All right,” Billy agreed pleasantly; “I’ll +put the greatest creative mind of the century +to work on the job.”</p> + +<p>“You put it to work at once, young man,” +Dr. Pierce said. “The thing I’m trying to +impress on you both is that you can’t wait +too long.”</p> + +<p>“Buffalo” Westabrook stirred uneasily. +His fierce, blue eyes retreated behind the +frown in his thick brows until all you could +see were two shining points. He watched +Maida closely as she limped back to the car. +“What are you thinking of, Posie?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>“Oh, nothing, father,” Maida said, smiling +faintly. This was the answer she gave most +often to her father’s questions. “Is there +anything you want, Posie?” he was sure to +ask every morning, or, “What would you +like me to get you to-day, little daughter?” +The answer was invariable, given always in +the same soft, thin little voice: “Nothing, +father—thank you.”</p> + +<p>“Where are we now, Jerome?” Dr. Pierce +asked suddenly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Westabrook looked about him. “Getting +towards Revere.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s go home through Charlestown,” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +Dr. Pierce suggested. “How would you +like to see the house where I was born, +Maida—that old place on Warrington Street +I told you about yesterday. I think you’d +like it, Pinkwink.”</p> + +<p>“Pinkwink” was Dr. Pierce’s pet-name +for Maida.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’d love to see it.” A little thrill of +pleasure sparkled in Maida’s flat tones. +“I’d just love to.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Pierce gave some directions to the +chauffeur.</p> + +<p>For fifteen minutes or more the men +talked business. They had come away from +the sea and the streams of yellow and red +and green trees. Maida pillowed her head +on the cushions and stared fixedly at the +passing streets. But her little face wore a +dreamy, withdrawn look as if she were seeing +something very far away. Whenever +“Buffalo” Westabrook’s glance shot her +way, his thick brows pulled together into the +frown that most people dreaded to face.</p> + +<p>“Now down the hill and then to the left,” +Dr. Pierce instructed Henri.</p> + +<p>Warrington Street was wide and old-fashioned. +Big elms marching in a double +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +file between the fine old houses, met in an +arch above their roofs. At intervals along +the curbstones were hitching-posts of iron, +most of them supporting the head of a horse +with a ring in his nose. One, the statue of +a negro boy with his arms lifted above his +head, seemed to beg the honor of holding the +reins. Beside these hitching-posts were +rectangular blocks of granite—stepping-stones +for horseback riders and carriage +folk.</p> + +<p>“There, Pinkwink,” Dr. Pierce said; +“that old house on the corner—stop here, +Henri, please—that’s where I was brought +up. The old swing used to hang from that +tree and it was from that big bough stretching +over the fence that I fell and broke my +arm.”</p> + +<p>Maida’s eyes brightened. “And there’s +the garret window where the squirrels used +to come in,” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“The same!” Dr. Pierce laughed. “You +don’t forget anything, do you? My goodness +me! How small the house looks and +how narrow the street has grown! Even +the trees aren’t as tall as they should be.”</p> + +<p>Maida stared. The trees looked very +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +high indeed to her. And she thought the +street quite wide enough for anybody, the +houses very stately.</p> + +<p>“Now show me the school,” she begged.</p> + +<p>“Just a block or two, Henri,” Dr. Pierce +directed.</p> + +<p>The car stopped in front of a low, rambling +wooden building with a yard in +front.</p> + +<p>“That’s where you covered the ceiling +with spit-balls,” Maida asked.</p> + +<p>“The same!” Dr. Pierce laughed heartily +at the remembrance. It seemed to Maida +that she had never seen his curls bob quite +so furiously before.</p> + +<p>“It’s one of the few wooden, primary +buildings left in the city,” he explained to +the two men. “It can’t last many years +now. It’s nothing but a rat-trap but how I +shall hate to see it go!”</p> + +<p>Opposite the school was a big, wide court. +Shaded with beautiful trees—maples beginning +to flame, horse-chestnuts a little +browned, it was lined with wooden toy +houses, set back of fenced-in yards and +veiled by climbing vines. Pigeons were flying +about, alighting now and then to peck +at the ground or to preen their green and +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +purple necks. Boys were spinning tops. +Girls were jumping rope. The dust they +kicked up had a sweet, earthy smell +in Maida’s nostrils. As she stared, charmed +with the picture, a little girl in a scarlet cape +and a scarlet hat came climbing up over one +of the fences. Quick, active as a squirrel, +she disappeared into the next yard.</p> + +<p>“Primrose Court!” Dr. Pierce exclaimed. +“Well, well, well!”</p> + +<p>“Primrose Court,” Maida repeated. +“Do primroses grow there?”</p> + +<p>“Bless your heart, no,” Dr. Pierce +laughed; “it was named after a man called +Primrose who used to own a great deal of +the neighborhood.”</p> + +<p>But Maida was scarcely listening. “Oh, +what a cunning little shop!” she exclaimed. +“There, opposite the court. What a perfectly +darling little place!”</p> + +<p>“Good Lord! that’s Connors’,” Dr. Pierce +explained. “Many a reckless penny I’ve +squandered there, my dear. Connors was +the funniest, old, bent, dried-up man. I +wonder who keeps it now.”</p> + +<p>As if in answer to his question, a wrinkled +old lady came to the window to take a paper-doll +from the dusty display there. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + +<p>“What are those yellow things in that +glass jar?” Maida asked.</p> + +<p>“Pickled limes,” Dr. Pierce responded +promptly. “How I used to love them!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, father, buy me a pickled lime,” +Maida pleaded. “I never had one in my +life and I’ve been crazy to taste one ever +since I read ‘Little Women.’”</p> + +<p>“All right,” Mr. Westabrook said. +“Let’s come in and treat Maida to a pickled +lime.”</p> + +<p>A bell rang discordantly as they opened +the door. Its prolonged clangor finally +brought the old lady from the room at the +back. She looked in surprise at the three +men in their automobile coats and at the +little lame girl.</p> + +<p>Coming in from the bright sunshine, the +shop seemed unpleasantly dark to Maida. +After a while she saw that its two windows +gave it light enough but that it was very +confused, cluttery and dusty.</p> + +<p>Mr. Westabrook bought four pickled +limes and everybody ate—three of them +with enjoyment, Billy with many wry faces +and a decided, “Stung!” after the first +taste.</p> + +<p>“I like pickled limes,” Maida said after +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +they had started for Boston. “What a +funny little place that was! Oh, how I +would like to keep a little shop just like it.”</p> + +<p>Billy Potter started. For a moment it +seemed as if he were about to speak. But +instead, he stared hard at Maida, falling +gradually into a brown study. From time +to time he came out of it long enough to +look sharply at her. The sparkle had all +gone out of her face. She was pale and +dream-absorbed again.</p> + +<p>Her father studied her with increasing +anxiety as they neared the big house on +Beacon Street. Dr. Pierce’s face was shadowed +too.</p> + +<p>“Eureka! I’ve found it!” Billy exclaimed +as they swept past the State House. +“I’ve got it, Mr. Westabrook.”</p> + +<p>“Got what?”</p> + +<p>Billy did not answer at once. The automobile +had stopped in front of a big red-brick +house. Over the beautifully fluted +columns that held up the porch hung a brilliant +red vine. Lavender-colored glass, +here and there in the windows, made purple +patches on the lace of the curtains.</p> + +<p>“Got what?” Mr. Westabrook repeated +impatiently. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<p>“That little job of the imagination that +you put me on a few moments ago,” Billy +answered mysteriously. “In a moment,” +he added with a significant look at Maida. +“You stay too, Dr. Pierce. I want your +approval.”</p> + +<p>The door of the beautiful old house had +opened and a man in livery came out to +assist Maida. On the threshold stood an +old silver-haired woman in a black-silk +gown, a white cap and apron, a little black +shawl pinned about her shoulders.</p> + +<p>“How’s my lamb?” she asked tenderly +of Maida.</p> + +<p>“Oh, pretty well,” Maida said dully. +“Oh, Granny,” she added with a sudden +flare of enthusiasm, “I saw the cunningest +little shop. I think I’d rather tend shop +than do anything else in the world.”</p> + +<p>Billy Potter smiled all over his pink face. +He followed Mr. Westabrook and Dr. +Pierce into the drawing-room.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Maida went upstairs with Granny Flynn.</p> + +<p>Granny Flynn had come straight to the +Westabrook house from the boat that +brought her from Ireland years ago. She +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +had come to America in search of a runaway +daughter but she had never found her. +She had helped to nurse Maida’s mother +in the illness of which she died and she had +always taken such care of Maida herself +that Maida loved her dearly. Sometimes +when they were alone, Maida would call her +“Dame,” because, she said, “Granny looks +just like the ‘Dame’ who comes into fairy-tales.”</p> + +<p>Granny Flynn was very little, very bent, +very old. “A t’ousand and noine, sure,” +she always answered when Maida asked her +how old. Her skin had cracked into a hundred +wrinkles and her long sharp nose and +her short sharp chin almost met. But the +wrinkles surrounded a pair of eyes that +were a twinkling, youthful blue. And her +down-turned nose and up-growing chin +could not conceal or mar the lovely sweetness +of her smile.</p> + +<p>Just before Maida went to bed that night, +she was surprised by a visit from her father.</p> + +<p>“Posie,” he said, sitting down on her bed, +“did you really mean it to-day when you +said you would like to keep a little shop?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, father! I’ve been thinking it +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +over ever since I came home from our ride +this afternoon. A little shop, you know, +just like the one we saw to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, dear, you shall keep a shop. +You shall keep that very one. I’m going +to buy out the business for you and put +you in charge there. I’ve got to be in New +York pretty steadily for the next three +months and I’ve decided that I’ll send you +and Granny to live in the rooms over the +shop. I’ll fix the place all up for you, give +you plenty of money to stock it and then I +expect you to run it and make it pay.”</p> + +<p>Maida sat up in bed with a vigor that +surprised her father. She shook her hands—a +gesture that, with her, meant great delight. +She laughed. It was the first time +in months that a happy note had pealed in +her laughter. “Oh, father, dear, how good +you are to me! I’m just crazy to try it and +I know I can make it pay—if hard work +helps.”</p> + +<p>“All right. That’s settled. But listen +carefully to what I’m going to say, Posie. +I can’t have this getting into the papers, +you know. To prevent that, you’re to play +a game while you’re working in the shop—just +as princesses in fairy-tales had to play +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +games sometimes. You’re going <span style="font-style: italic">in disguise</span>. +Do you understand?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, father, I understand.”</p> + +<p>“You’re to pretend that you belong to +Granny Flynn, that you’re her grandchild. +You won’t have to tell any lies about it. +When the children in the neighborhood hear +you call her ‘Granny,’ they’ll simply take +it for granted that you’re her son’s child.</p> + +<p>“Or I can pretend I’m poor Granny’s +lost daughter’s little girl,” Maida suggested.</p> + +<p>“If you wish. Billy Potter’s going to +stay here in Boston and help you. You’re +to call on him, Posie, if you get into any +snarl. But I hope you’ll try to settle all +your own difficulties before turning to anybody +else. Do you understand?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, father. Father, dear, I’m so +happy. Does Granny know?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>Maida heaved an ecstatic sigh. “I’m +afraid I shan’t get to sleep to-night—just +thinking of it.”</p> + +<p>But she did sleep and very hard—the best +sleep she had known since her operation. +And she dreamed that she opened a shop—a +big shop this was—on the top of a huge +white cloud. She dreamed that her customers +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +were all little boy and girl angels with +floating, golden curls and shining rainbow-colored +wings. She dreamed that she sold +nothing but cake. She used to cut generous +slices from an angel-cake as big as the +golden dome of the Boston state house. +It was very delicious—all honey and jelly +and ice cream on the inside, and all frosting, +stuck with candies and nuts and fruits, +on the outside.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The people on Warrington Street were +surprised to learn in the course of a few +days that old Mrs. Murdock had sold out +her business in the little corner store. For +over a week, the little place was shut up. +The school children, pouring into the street +twice a day, had to go to Main Street for +their candy and lead pencils. For a long +time all the curtains were kept down. +Something was going on inside, but what, +could not be guessed from the outside. +Wagons deposited all kinds of things at the +door, rolls of paper, tins of paint, furniture, +big wooden boxes whose contents nobody +could guess. Every day brought more and +more workmen and the more there were, the +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +harder they worked. Then, as suddenly as +it had begun, all the work stopped.</p> + +<p>The next morning when the neighborhood +waked up, a freshly-painted sign had taken +the place over the door of the dingy old +black and white one. The lettering was +gilt, the background a skyey blue. It read:</p> + +<p style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.44em; font-size: 125%; "> +MAIDA’S LITTLE SHOP +<br /><br /></p> + +<hr /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> +<h3>CLEANING UP</h3> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>The next two weeks were the busiest +Maida ever knew.</p> + +<p>In the first place she must see Mrs. Murdock +and talk things over. In the second +place, she must examine all the stock that +Mrs. Murdock left. In the third place, she +must order new stock from the wholesale +places. And in the fourth place, the rooms +must be made ready for her and Granny to +live in. It was hard work, but it was great +fun.</p> + +<p>First, Mrs. Murdock called, at Billy’s request, +at his rooms on Mount Vernon Street. +Granny and Maida were there to meet her.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Murdock was a tall, thin, erect old +lady. Her bright black eyes were piercing +enough, but it seemed to Maida that the +round-glassed spectacles, through which she +examined them all, were even more so.</p> + +<p>“I’ve made out a list of things for the +shop that I’m all out of,” she began briskly. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +“You’ll know what the rest is from what’s +left on the shelves. Now about buying—there’s +a wagon comes round once a month +and I’ve told them to keep right on a-coming +even though I ain’t there. They’ll sell +you your candy, pickles, pickled limes and +all sich stuff. You’ll have to buy your toys +in Boston—your paper, pens, pencils, rubbers +and the like also, but not at the same +places where you git the toys. I’ve put all +the addresses down on the list. I don’t see +how you can make any mistakes.”</p> + +<p>“How long will it take you to get out +of the shop?” Billy asked.</p> + +<p>Maida knew that Billy enjoyed Mrs. Murdock, +for often, when he looked at that lady, +his eyes “skrinkled up,” although there was +not a smile on his face.</p> + +<p>“A week is all I need,” Mrs. Murdock +declared. “If it worn’t for other folks who +are keeping me waiting, I’d have that hull +place fixed as clean as a whistle in two shakes +of a lamb’s tail. Now I’ll put a price on +everything, so’s you won’t be bothered what +to charge. There’s some things I don’t +ever git, because folks buy too many of them +and it’s sich an everlasting bother keeping +them in stock. But you’re young and spry, +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +and maybe you won’t mind jumping about +for every Tom, Dick and Harry. But, remember,” +she added in parting, “don’t git +expensive things. Folks in that neighborhood +ain’t got no money to fool away. Git +as many things as you can for a cent a-piece. +Git some for five and less for ten +and nothing for over a quarter. But you +must allus callulate to buy some things to +lose money on. I mean the truck you put +in the window jess to make folks look in. +It gits dusty and fly-specked before you +know it and there’s an end on it. I allus +send them to the Home for Little Wanderers +at Christmas time.”</p> + +<p>Early one morning, a week later, a party +of three—Granny Flynn, Billy and Maida—walked +up Beacon Street and across the +common to the subway. Maida had never +walked so far in her life. But her father +had told her that if she wanted to keep the +shop, she must give up her carriage and her +automobile. That was not hard. She was +willing to give up anything that she owned +for the little shop.</p> + +<p>They left the car at City Square in +Charlestown and walked the rest of the way. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +It was Saturday, a brilliant morning in a +beautiful autumn. All the children in the +neighborhood were out playing. Maida +looked at each one of them as she passed. +They seemed as wonderful as fairy beings +to her—for would they not all be her customers +soon? And yet, such was her excitement, +she could not remember one face after +she had passed it. A single picture remained +in her mind—a picture of a little +girl standing alone in the middle of the +court. Black-haired, black-eyed, a vivid +spot of color in a scarlet cape and a scarlet +hat, the child was scattering bread-crumbs +to a flock of pigeons. The pigeons did not +seem afraid of her. They flew close to her +feet. One even alighted on her shoulder.</p> + +<p>“It makes me think of St. Mark’s in Venice,” +Maida said to Billy.</p> + +<p>But, little girl—scarlet cape—flocks of +doves—St. Mark’s, all went out of her head +entirely when she unlocked the door of the +little shop.</p> + +<p>“Oh, oh, oh!” she cried, “how nice and +clean it looks!”</p> + +<p>The shop seemed even larger than she remembered +it. The confused, dusty, cluttery +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +look had gone. But with its dull paint and +its blackened ceiling, it still seemed dark +and dingy.</p> + +<p>Maida ran behind the counter, peeped into +the show cases, poked her head into the window, +drew out the drawers that lined the +wall, pulled covers from the boxes on the +shelves. There is no knowing where her investigations +would have ended if Billy had +not said:</p> + +<p>“See here, Miss Curiosity, we can’t put +in the whole morning on the shop. This is +a preliminary tour of investigation. Come +and see the rest of it. This way to the +living-room!”</p> + +<p>The living-room led from the shop—a big +square room, empty now, of course. Maida +limped over to the window. “Oh, oh, oh!” +she cried; “did you ever see such a darling +little yard?”</p> + +<p>“It surely is little,” Billy agreed, “not +much bigger than a pocket handkerchief, is +it?”</p> + +<p>And yet, scrap of a place as the yard was, +it had an air of completeness, a pretty +quaintness. Two tiny brick walks curved +from the door to the gate. On either side +of these spread out microscopic flower-beds, +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +crowded tight with plants. Late-blooming +dahlias and asters made spots of starry color +in the green. A vine, running over the door +to the second story, waved like a crimson +banner dropped from the window.</p> + +<p>“The old lady must have been fond of +flowers,” Billy Potter said. He squinted +his near-sighted blue eyes and studied the +bunches of green. “Syringa bush in one +corner. Lilac bush in the other. Nasturtiums +at the edges. Morning-glories running +up the fence. Sunflowers in between. +My, won’t it be fun to see them all racing +up in the spring!”</p> + +<p>Maida jumped up and down at the +thought. She could not jump like other +children. Indeed, this was the first time +that she had ever tried. It was as if her +feet were like flat-irons. Granny Flynn +turned quickly away and Billy bit his lips.</p> + +<p>“I know just how I’m going to fix this +room up for you, Petronilla,” Billy said, +nodding his head mysteriously. “Now let’s +go into the kitchen.”</p> + +<p>The kitchen led from the living-room. +Billy exclaimed when he saw it and Maida +shook her hands, but it was Granny who +actually screamed with delight. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + +<p>Much bigger than the living-room, it had +four windows with sunshine pouring in +through every one of them. But it was not +the four windows nor yet the sunshine that +made the sensation—it was the stone floor.</p> + +<p>“We’ll put a carpet on it if you think it’s +too cold, Granny,” Billy suggested immediately.</p> + +<p>“Oh, lave it be, Misther Billy,” Granny +begged. “’Tis loike me ould home in Oireland. +Sure ’tis homesick Oi am this very +minut looking at ut.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” Billy agreed cheerfully. +“What you say goes, Granny. Now upstairs +to the sleeping-rooms.”</p> + +<p>To get to the second floor they climbed +a little stairway not more than three feet +wide, with steps very high, most of them +triangular in shape because the stairway +had to turn so often. And upstairs—after +they got there—consisted of three rooms, +two big and square and light, and one +smaller and darker.</p> + +<p>“The small room is to be made into a +bathroom,” Billy explained, “and these two +big ones are to be your bedrooms. Which +one will you have, Maida?”</p> + +<p>Maida examined both rooms carefully. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +“Well, I don’t care for myself which I +have,” she said. “But it does seem as if +there were a teeny-weeny more sun in this +one. I think Granny ought to have it, for +she loves the sunshine on her old bones. +You know, Billy, Granny and I have the +greatest fun about our bones. Hers are all +wrong because they’re so old, and mine are +all wrong because they’re so young.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” Billy agreed. “Sunshiny +one for Granny, shady one for you. That’s +settled! I hope you realize, Miss Maida, +Elizabeth, Fairfax, Petronilla, Pinkwink, +Posie Westabrook what perfectly bully +rooms these are! They’re as old as Noah.”</p> + +<p>“I’m glad they’re old,” Maida said. +“But of course they must be. This house +was here when Dr. Pierce was a little boy. +And that must have been a long, long, long +time ago.”</p> + +<p>“Just look at the floors,” Billy went on +admiringly. “See how uneven they are. +You’ll have to walk straight here, Petronilla, +to keep from falling down. That +old wooden wainscoting is simply charming. +That’s a nice old fireplace too. And +these old doors are perfect.”</p> + +<p>Granny Flynn was working the latch of +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +one of the old doors with her wrinkled +hands. “Manny’s the toime Oi’ve snibbed +a latch loike that in Oireland,” she said, and +she smiled so hard that her very wrinkles +seemed to twinkle.</p> + +<p>“And look at the windows, Granny,” +Billy said. “Sixteen panes of glass each. +I hope you’ll make Petronilla wash them.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Granny, will you let me wash the +windows?” Maida asked ecstatically.</p> + +<p>“When you’re grand and sthrong,” +Granny promised.</p> + +<p>“I know just how I’ll furnish the room,” +Billy said half to himself.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Billy, tell me!” Maida begged.</p> + +<p>“Can’t,” he protested mischievously. +“You’ve got to wait till it’s all finished before +you see hide or hair of it.”</p> + +<p>“I know I’ll die of curiosity,” Maida protested. +“But then of course I shall be very +busy with my own business.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes,” Billy replied. “Now that +you’ve embarked on a mercantile career, +Miss Westabrook, I think you’ll find that +you’ll have less and less time for the decorative +side of life.”</p> + +<p>Billy spoke so seriously that most little +girls would have been awed by his manner. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +But Maida recognized the tone that he always +employed when he was joking her. +Beside, his eyes were all “skrinkled up.” +She did not quite understand what the joke +was, but she smiled back at him.</p> + +<p>“Now can we look at the things downstairs?” +she pleaded.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Billy assented. “To-day is a +very important day. Behind locked doors +and sealed windows, we’re going to take account +of stock.”</p> + +<p>Granny Flynn remained in the bedrooms +to make all kinds of mysterious measurements, +to open and shut doors, to examine +closets, to try window-sashes, even to poke +her head up the chimney.</p> + +<p>Downstairs, Billy and Maida opened +boxes and boxes and boxes and drawers and +drawers and drawers. Every one of these +had been carefully gone over by the conscientious +Mrs. Murdock. Two boxes bulged +with toys, too broken or soiled to be of any +use. These they threw into the ash-barrel +at once. What was left they dumped on +the floor. Maida and Billy sat down beside +the heap and examined the things, one by +one. Maida had never seen such toys in her +life—so cheap and yet so amusing. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was hard work to keep to business with +such enchanting temptation to play all about +them. Billy insisted on spinning every top—he +got five going at once—on blowing every +balloon—he produced such dreadful +wails of agony that Granny came running +downstairs in great alarm—on jumping +with every jump-rope—the short ones +tripped him up and once he sprawled headlong—on +playing jackstones—Maida beat +him easily at this—on playing marbles—with +a piece of crayon he drew a ring on the +floor—on looking through all the books—he +declared that he was going to buy some little +penny-pamphlet fairy-tales as soon as he +could save the money. But in spite of all +this fooling, they really accomplished a +great deal.</p> + +<p>They found very few eatables—candy, +fruit, or the like. Mrs. Murdock had wisely +sold out this perishable stock. One glass +jar, however, was crammed full of what +Billy recognized to be “bulls-eyes”—round +lumps of candy as big as plums and as hard +as stones. Billy said that he loved bulls-eyes +better than terrapin or broiled live +lobster, that he had not tasted one since he +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +was “half-past ten.” For the rest of the +day, one of his cheeks stuck out as if he had +the toothache.</p> + +<p>They came across all kinds of odds and +ends—lead pencils, blank-books, an old slate +pencil wrapped in gold paper which Billy +insisted on using to draw pictures on a +slate—he made this squeak so that Maida +clapped her hands over her ears. They +found single pieces from sets of miniature +furniture, a great many dolls, rag-dolls, +china dolls, celluloid dolls, the latest bisque +beauties, and two old-fashioned waxen darlings +whose features had all run together +from being left in too great a heat.</p> + +<p>They went through all these things, sorting +them into heaps which they afterwards +placed in boxes. At noon, Billy went out +and bought lunch. Still squatting on the +floor, the three of them ate sandwiches and +drank milk. Granny said that Maida had +never eaten so much at one meal.</p> + +<p>All this happened on Saturday. Maida +did not see the little shop again until it was +finished.</p> + +<p>By Monday the place was as busy as a +beehive. Men were putting in a furnace, +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +putting in a telephone, putting in a bathroom, +whitening the plaster, painting the +woodwork.</p> + +<p>Finally came two days of waiting for the +paint to dry. “Will it ever, <span style="font-style: italic">ever</span>, EVER +dry?” Maida used to ask Billy in the most +despairing of voices.</p> + +<p>By Thursday, the rooms were ready for +their second coat of paint.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Billy, do tell me what color it +is—I +can’t wait to see it,” Maida begged.</p> + +<p>But, “Sky-blue-pink” was all she got +from Billy.</p> + +<p>Saturday the furniture came.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, Maida had been going +to all the principal wholesale places in Boston +picking out new stock. Granny Flynn +accompanied her or stayed at home, according +to the way she felt, but Billy never +missed a trip.</p> + +<p>Maida enjoyed this tremendously, although +often she had to go to bed before +dark. She said it was the responsibility +that tired her.</p> + +<p>To Maida, these big wholesale places +seemed like the storehouses of Santa Claus. +In reality they were great halls, lined with +parallel rows of counters. The counters +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +were covered with boxes and the boxes were +filled with toys. Along the aisles between +the counters moved crowds of buyers, busily +examining the display.</p> + +<p>It was particularly hard for Maida to +choose, because she was limited by price. +She kept recalling Mrs. Murdock’s advice, +“Get as many things as you can for a cent +a-piece.” The expensive toys tempted her, +but although she often stopped and looked +them wistfully over, she always ended by +going to the cheaper counters.</p> + +<p>“You ought to be thinking how you’ll decorate +the windows for your first day’s sale,” +Billy advised her. “You must make it look +as tempting as possible. I think, myself, +it’s always a good plan to display the toys +that go with the season.”</p> + +<p>Maida thought of this a great deal after +she went to bed at night. By the end of the +week, she could see in imagination just how +her windows were going to look.</p> + +<p>Saturday night, Billy told her that everything +was ready, that she should see the +completed house Monday morning. It +seemed to Maida that the Sunday coming +in between was the longest day that she had +ever known. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> + +<p>When she unlocked the door to the shop, +the next morning, she let out a little squeal +of joy. “Oh, I would never know it,” she +declared. “How much bigger it looks, and +lighter and prettier!”</p> + +<p>Indeed, you would never have known the +place yourself. The ceiling had been whitened. +The faded drab woodwork had been +painted white. The walls had been colored +a beautiful soft yellow. Back of the counter +a series of shelves, glassed in by sliding +doors, ran the whole length of the wall and +nearly to the ceiling. Behind the show case +stood a comfortable, cushioned swivel-chair.</p> + +<p>“The stuff you’ve been buying, Petronilla,” +Billy said, pointing to a big pile of +boxes in the corner. “Now, while Granny +and I are putting some last touches to the +rooms upstairs, you might be arranging the +window.”</p> + +<p>“That’s just what I planned to do,” +Maida said, bubbling with importance. +“But you promise not to interrupt me till +it’s all done.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” Billy agreed, smiling peculiarly. +He continued to smile as he opened +the boxes.</p> + +<p>It did not occur to Maida to ask them +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +what they were going to do upstairs. It did +not occur to her even to go up there. From +time to time, she heard Granny and Billy +laughing. “One of Billy’s jokes,” she said +to herself. Once she thought she heard the +chirp of a bird, but she would not leave her +work to find out what it was.</p> + +<p>When the twelve o’clock whistle blew, she +called to Granny and to Billy to come to +see the results of her morning’s labor.</p> + +<p>“I say!” Billy emitted a long loud whistle.</p> + +<p>“Oh, do you like it?” Maida asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>“It’s a grand piece of work, Petronilla,” +Billy said heartily.</p> + +<p>The window certainly struck the key-note +of the season. Tops of all sizes and colors +were arranged in pretty patterns in the middle. +Marbles of all kinds from the ten-for-a-cent +“peeweezers” up to the most beautiful, +colored “agates” were displayed at the +sides. Jump-ropes of variegated colors +with handles, brilliantly painted, were festooned +at the back. One of the window +shelves had been furnished like a tiny room. +A whole family of dolls sat about on the +tiny sofas and chairs. On the other shelf +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +lay neat piles of blank-books and paper-blocks, +with files of pens, pencils, and rubbers +arranged in a decorative pattern surrounding +them all.</p> + +<p>In the show case, fresh candies had been +laid out carefully on saucers and platters +of glass. On the counter was a big, flowered +bowl.</p> + +<p>“To-morrow, I’m going to fill that bowl +with asters,” Maida explained.</p> + +<p>“OI’m sure the choild has done foine,” +Granny Flynn said, “Oi cudn’t have done +betther mesilf.”</p> + +<p>“Now come and look at your rooms, Petronilla,” +Billy begged, his eyes dancing.</p> + +<p>Maida opened the door leading into the +living-room. Then she squealed her delight, +not once, but continuously, like a very +happy little pig.</p> + +<p>The room was as changed as if some good +fairy had waved a magic wand there. All +the woodwork had turned a glistening white. +The wall paper blossomed with garlands +of red roses, tied with snoods of red ribbons. +At each of the three windows waved +sash curtains of a snowy muslin. At each +of the three sashes hung a golden cage with +a pair of golden canaries in it. Along each +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +of the three sills marched pots of brilliantly-blooming +scarlet geraniums. A fire +spluttered and sparkled in the fireplace, and +drawn up in front of it was a big easy chair +for Granny, and a small easy one for Maida. +Familiar things lay about, too. In one corner +gleamed the cheerful face of the tall old +clock which marked the hours with so silvery +a voice and the moon-changes by such pretty +pictures. In another corner shone the polished +surface of a spidery-legged little +spinet. Maida loved both these things almost +as much as if they had been human beings, +for her mother and her grandmother +and her great-grandmother had loved them +before her. Needed things caught her eyes +everywhere. Here was a little bookcase +with all her favorite books. There was a +desk, stocked with business-like-looking +blank-books. Even the familiar table with +Granny’s “Book of Saints” stood near +the easy chair. Granny’s spectacles lay +on an open page, familiarly marking the +place. </p> + +<p>In the center of the room stood a table set +for three.</p> + +<p>“It’s just the dearest place,” Maida said. +“Billy, you’ve remembered everything. I +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +thought I heard a bird peep once, but I was +too busy to think about it.”</p> + +<p>“Want to go upstairs?” Billy asked.</p> + +<p>“I’d forgotten all about bedrooms.” +Maida flew up the stairs as if she had never +known a crutch.</p> + +<p>The two bedrooms were very simple, all +white—woodwork, furniture, beds, even the +fur rugs on the floor. But they were wonderfully +gay from the beautiful paper that +Billy had selected. In Granny’s room, the +walls imitated a flowered chintz. But in +Maida’s room every panel was different. +And they all helped to tell the same happy +story of a day’s hunting in the time when +men wore long feathered hats on their curls, +when ladies dressed like pictures and all +carried falcons on their wrists.</p> + +<p>“Granny, Granny,” Maida called down to +them, “Did you ever see any place in all +your life that felt so <span style="font-style: italic">homey</span>?”</p> + +<p>“I guess it will do,” Billy said in an undertone.</p> + +<p>That night, for the first time, Maida slept +in the room over the little shop.</p> + +<hr /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> +<h3>THE FIRST DAY</h3> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>If you had gone into the little shop the +next day, you would have seen a very +pretty picture.</p> + +<p>First of all, I think you would have noticed +the little girl who sat behind the +counter—a little girl in a simple blue-serge +dress and a fresh white “tire”—a little girl +with shining excited eyes and masses of +pale-gold hair, clinging in tendrilly rings +about a thin, heart-shaped face—a little +girl who kept saying as she turned round +and round in her swivel-chair:</p> + +<p>“Oh, Granny, do you think <span style="font-style: italic">anybody’s</span> +going to buy <span style="font-style: italic">anything</span> to-day?”</p> + +<p>Next I think you would have noticed an +old woman who kept coming to the living-room +door—an old woman in a black gown +and a white apron so stiffly starched that it +rattled when it touched anything—an old +woman with twinkling blue eyes and hair, +enclosing, as in a silver frame, a little +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +carved nut of a face—an old woman who +kept soothing the little girl with a cheery:</p> + +<p>“Now joost you be patient, my lamb, sure +somebody’ll be here soon.”</p> + +<p>The shop was unchanged since yesterday, +except for a big bowl of asters, red, white +and blue.</p> + +<p>“Three cheers for the red, white and +blue,” Maida sang when she arranged them. +She had been singing at intervals ever since. +Suddenly the latch slipped. The bell rang.</p> + +<p>Maida jumped. Then she sat so still in +her high chair that you would have thought +she had turned to stone. But her eyes, +glued to the moving door, had a look as if +she did not know what to expect.</p> + +<p>The door swung wide. A young man entered. +It was Billy Potter.</p> + +<p>He walked over to the show case, his hat +in his hand. And all the time he looked +Maida straight in the eye. But you would +have thought he had never seen her before.</p> + +<p>“Please, mum,” he asked humbly, “do +you sell fairy-tales here?”</p> + +<p>Maida saw at once that it was one of +Billy’s games. She had to bite her lips to +keep from laughing. “Yes,” she said, when +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +she had made her mouth quite firm. “How +much do you want to pay for them?”</p> + +<p>“Not more than a penny each, mum,” he +replied.</p> + +<p>Maida took out of a drawer the pamphlet-tales +that Billy had liked so much.</p> + +<p>“Are these what you want?” she asked. +But before he could answer, she added in a +condescending tone, “Do you know how to +read, little boy?”</p> + +<p>Billy’s face twitched suddenly and his +eyes “skrinkled up.” Maida saw with a +mischievous delight that he, in his turn, was +trying to keep the laughter back.</p> + +<p>“Yes, mum,” he said, making his face +quite serious again. “My teacher says I’m +the best reader in the room.”</p> + +<p>He took up the little books and looked +them over. “‘The Three Boars’—no,‘Bears,’” +he corrected himself. “‘Puss-in-Boats’—no, ‘Boots’; +‘Jack-and-the-Bean-Scalp’—no,‘Stalk’; +‘Jack the Joint-Cooler’—no, ‘Giant-Killer’; +‘Cinderella,’ ‘Bluebird’—no, ‘Bluebeard’; +‘Little Toody-Goo-Shoes’—no, ‘Little Goody-Two-Shoes’; +‘Tom Thumb,’ ‘The Sweeping Beauty,’— +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +‘The Babes in the Wood.’ I guess I’ll take these ten, mum.”</p> + +<p>He felt in all his pockets, one after another. +After a long time, he brought out +some pennies, “One, two, three, four, five, +six, seven, eight, nine, ten,” he counted +slowly.</p> + +<p>He took the books, turned and left the +shop. Maida watched him in astonishment. +Was he really going for good?</p> + +<p>In a few minutes the little bell tinkled a +second time and there stood Billy again.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Petronilla,” he said +pleasantly, as if he had not seen her before +that morning, “How’s business?”</p> + +<p>“Fine!” Maida responded promptly. +“I’ve just sold ten fairy books to the funniest +little boy you ever saw.”</p> + +<p>“My stars and garters!” Billy exclaimed. +“Business surely is brisk. Keep that up +and you can afford to have a cat. I’ve +brought you something.”</p> + +<p>He opened the bag he carried and took a +box out from it. “Hold out your two +hands,—it’s heavy,” he warned.</p> + +<p>In spite of his preparation, the box +nearly fell to the floor—it was so much +heavier than Maida expected. “What can +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +be in it?” she cried excitedly. She pulled +the cover off—then murmured a little “oh!” +of delight.</p> + +<p>The box was full—cram-jam full—of pennies; +pennies so new that they looked like +gold—pennies so many that they looked like +a fortune.</p> + +<p>“Gracious, what pretty money!” Maida +exclaimed. “There must be a million +here.”</p> + +<p>“Five hundred,” Billy corrected her.</p> + +<p>He put some tiny cylindrical rolls of +paper on the counter. Maida handled them +curiously—they, too, were heavy.</p> + +<p>“Open them,” Billy commanded.</p> + +<p>Maida pulled the papers away from the +tops. Bright new dimes fell out of one, +bright new nickels came from the other.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m so glad to have nice clean +money,” Maida said in a satisfied tone. +She emptied the money drawer and filled +its pockets with the shining coins. “It was +very kind of you to think of it, Billy. I +know it will please the children.” The +thought made her eyes sparkle.</p> + +<p>The bell rang again. Billy went out to +talk with Granny, leaving Maida alone to +cope with her first strange customer. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> + +<p>Again her heart began to jump into her +throat. Her mouth felt dry on the inside. +She watched the door, fascinated.</p> + +<p>On the threshold two little girls were +standing. They were exactly of the same +size, they were dressed in exactly the same +way, their faces were as alike as two peas +in a pod. Maida saw at once that they were +twins. They had little round, chubby +bodies, bulging out of red sweaters; little +round, chubby faces, emerging from tall, +peaky, red-worsted caps. They had big +round eyes as expressionless as glass beads +and big round golden curls as stiff as candles. +They stared so hard at Maida that she +began to wonder nervously if her face were +dirty.</p> + +<p>“Come in, little girls,” she called.</p> + +<p>The little girls pattered over to the show +case and looked in. But their big round +eyes, instead of examining the candy, kept +peering up through the glass top at Maida. +And Maida kept peering down through it at +them.</p> + +<p>“I want to buy some candy for a cent,” +one of them whispered in a timid little +voice.</p> + +<p>“I want to buy some candy for a cent, +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +too,” the other whispered in a voice, even +more timid.</p> + +<p>“All the cent candy is in this case,” Maida +explained, smiling.</p> + +<p>“What are you going to have, Dorothy?” +one of them asked.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. What are you going to +have, Mabel?” the other answered. They +discussed everything in the one-cent case. +Always they talked in whispers. And they +continued to look more often at Maida than +at the candy.</p> + +<p>“Have you anything two-for-a-cent?” +Mabel whispered finally.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes—all the candy in this corner.”</p> + +<p>The two little girls studied the corner +Maida indicated. For two or three moments +they whispered together. At one +point, it looked as if they would each buy +a long stick of peppermint, at another, a +paper of lozenges. But they changed their +minds a great many times. And in the end, +Dorothy bought two large pickles and Mabel +bought two large chocolates. Maida saw +them swapping their purchases as they went +out.</p> + +<p>The two pennies which the twins handed +her were still moist from the hot little hands +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +that had held them. Maida dropped them +into an empty pocket in the money drawer. +She felt as if she wanted to keep her first +earnings forever. It seemed to her that she +had never seen such <span style="font-style: italic">precious-looking</span> money. +The gold eagles which her father had given +her at Christmas and on her birthday did +not seem half so valuable.</p> + +<p>But she did not have much time to think +of all this. The bell rang again. This time +it was a boy—a big fellow of about fourteen, +she guessed, an untidy-looking boy with +large, intent black eyes. A mass of black +hair, which surely had not been combed, fell +about a face that as certainly had not been +washed that morning.</p> + +<p>“Give me one of those blue tops in the +window,” he said gruffly. He did not add +these words but his manner seemed to say, +“And be quick about it!” He threw his +money down on the counter so hard that +one of the pennies spun off into a corner.</p> + +<p>He did not offer to pick the penny up. +He did not even apologize. And he looked +very carefully at the top Maida handed him +as if he expected her to cheat him. Then he +walked out.</p> + +<p>It was getting towards school-time. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +Children seemed to spring up everywhere +as if they grew out of the ground. The +quiet streets began to ring with the cries of +boys playing tag, leap frog and prisoners’ +base. The little girls, much more quiet, +squatted in groups on doorsteps or walked +slowly up and down, arm-in-arm. But +Maida had little time to watch this picture. +The bell was ringing every minute now. +Once there were six children in the little +shop together.</p> + +<p>“Do you need any help?” Granny called.</p> + +<p>“No, Granny, not yet,” Maida answered +cheerfully.</p> + +<p>But just the same, she did have to hurry. +The children asked her for all kinds of +things and sometimes she could not remember +where she had put them. When in answer +to the school bell the long lines began +to form at the big doorways, two round red +spots were glowing in Maida’s cheeks. She +drew an involuntary sigh of relief when she +realized that she was going to have a chance +to rest. But first she counted the money +she had taken in. Thirty-seven cents! It +seemed a great deal to her.</p> + +<p>For an hour or more, nobody entered the +shop. Billy left in a little while for Boston. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +Granny, crooning an old Irish song, +busied herself upstairs in her bedroom. +Maida sat back in her chair, dreaming +happily of her work. Suddenly the bell +tinkled, rousing her with a start.</p> + +<p>It seemed a long time after the bell rang +before the door opened. But at last Maida +saw the reason of the delay. The little boy +who stood on the threshold was lame. +Maida would have known that he was +sick even if she had not seen the crutches +that held him up, or the iron cage that confined +one leg.</p> + +<p>His face was as colorless as if it had been +made of melted wax. His forehead was +lined almost as if he were old. A tired expression +in his eyes showed that he did not +sleep like other children. He must often +suffer, too—his mouth had a drawn look +that Maida knew well.</p> + +<p>The little boy moved slowly over to the +counter. It could hardly be said that he +walked. He seemed to swing between his +crutches exactly as a pendulum swings in a +tall clock. Perhaps he saw the sympathy +that ran from Maida’s warm heart to her +pale face, for before he spoke he smiled. +And when he smiled you could not possibly +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +think of him as sick or sad. The corners +of his mouth and the corners of his eyes +seemed to fly up together. It made your +spirits leap just to look at him.</p> + +<p>“I’d like a sheet of red tissue paper,” he +said briskly.</p> + +<p>Maida’s happy expression changed. It +was the first time that anybody had asked +her for anything which she did not have.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I haven’t any,” she said regretfully.</p> + +<p>The boy looked disappointed. He started +to go away. Then he turned hopefully. +“Mrs. Murdock always kept her tissue paper +in that drawer there,” he said, pointing.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, I do remember,” Maida exclaimed. +She recalled now a few sheets +of tissue paper that she had left there, not +knowing what to do with them. She pulled +the drawer open. There they were, neatly +folded, as she had left them.</p> + +<p>“What did Mrs. Murdock charge for +it?” she inquired.</p> + +<p>“A cent a sheet.”</p> + +<p>Maida thought busily. “I’m selling out +all the old stock,” she said. “You can +have all that’s left for a cent if you want +it.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Sure!” the boy exclaimed. “Jiminy +crickets! That’s a stroke of luck I wasn’t +expecting.”</p> + +<p>He spread the half dozen sheets out on +the counter and ran through them. He +looked up into Maida’s face as if he wanted +to thank her but did not know how to put +it. Instead, he stared about the shop. +“Say,” he exclaimed, “you’ve made this +store look grand. I’d never know it for the +same place. And your sign’s a crackajack.”</p> + +<p>The praise—the first she had had from +outside—pleased Maida. It emboldened +her to go on with the conversation.</p> + +<p>“You don’t go to school,” she said.</p> + +<p>The moment she had spoken, she regretted +it. It was plain to be seen, she reproached +herself inwardly, why he did not +go to school.</p> + +<p>“No,” the boy said soberly. “I can’t go +yet. Doc O’Brien says I can go next year, +he thinks. I’m wild to go. The other fellows +hate school but I love it. I s’pose it’s +because I can’t go that I want to. But, +then, I want to learn to read. A fellow can +have a good time anywhere if he knows +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +how to read. I can read some,” he added +in a shamed tone, “but not much. The +trouble is I don’t have anybody to listen +and help with the hard words.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, let me help you!” Maida cried. “I +can read as easy as anything.” This was +the second thing she regretted saying. For +when she came to think of it, she could not +see where she was going to have much time +to herself.</p> + +<p>But the little lame boy shook his head. +“Can’t,” he said decidedly. “You see, I’m +busy at home all day long and you’ll be +busy here. My mother works out and I +have to do most of the housework and take +care of the baby. Pretty slow work on +crutches, you know—although it’s easy +enough getting round after you get the hang +of it. No, I really don’t have any time to +fool until evenings.”</p> + +<p>“Evenings!” Maida exclaimed electrically. +“Why, that’s just the right time! +You see I’m pretty busy myself during the +daytime—at my business.” Her voice grew +a little important on that last phrase. +“Granny! Granny!” she called.</p> + +<p>Granny Flynn appeared in the doorway. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +Her eyes grew soft with pity when they +fell on the little lame boy. “The poor little +gossoon!” she murmured.</p> + +<p>“Granny,” Maida explained, “this little +boy can’t go to school because his mother +works all day and he has to do the housework +and take care of the baby, too, and he +wants to learn to read because he thinks he +won’t be half so lonely with books, and you +know, Granny, that’s perfectly true, for I +never suffered half so much with my legs +after I learned to read.”</p> + +<p>It had all poured out in an uninterrupted +stream. She had to stop here to get breath.</p> + +<p>“Now, Granny, what I want you to do is +to let me hear him read evenings until he +learns how. You see his mother comes +home then and he can leave the baby with +her. Oh, do let me do it, Granny! I’m sure +I could. And I really think you ought to. +For, if you’ll excuse me for saying so, +Granny, I don’t think you can understand +as well as I do what a difference it will +make.” She turned to the boy. “Have +you read ‘Little Men’ and ‘Little Women’?”</p> + +<p>“No—why, I’m only in the first reader.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll read them to you,” Maida said decisively, +“and ‘Treasure Island’ and ‘The +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +Princes and the Goblins’ and ‘The Princess +and Curdie.’” She reeled off the long list +of her favorites.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, Granny was considering +the matter. Dr. Pierce had said to her of +Maida: “Let her do anything that she +wants to do—as long as it doesn’t interfere +with her eating and sleeping. The main +thing to do is to get her <span style="font-style: italic">to want to do +things</span>.”</p> + +<p>“What’s your name, my lad?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Dicky Dore, ma’am,” the boy answered +respectfully.</p> + +<p>“Well, Oi don’t see why you shouldn’t +thry ut, acushla,” she said to Maida. “A +half an hour iv’ry avening after dinner. +Sure, in a wake, ’twill be foine and grand +we’ll be wid the little store running like a +clock.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll begin next week, Monday,” Maida +said eagerly. “You come over here right +after dinner.”</p> + +<p>“All right.” The little lame boy looked +very happy but, again, he did not seem to +know what to say. “Thank you, ma’am,” +he brought out finally. “And you, too,” +turning to Maida.</p> + +<p>“My name’s Maida.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Thank you, Maida,” the boy said with +even a greater display of bashfulness. He +settled the crutches under his thin shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t go, yet,” Maida pleaded. “I +want to ask you some questions. Tell me +the names of those dear little girls—the +twins.”</p> + +<p>Dicky Dore smiled his radiant smile. +“Their last name’s Clark. Say, ain’t they +the dead ringers for each other? I can’t +tell Dorothy from Mabel or Mabel from +Dorothy.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t, either,” Maida laughed. “It +must be fun to be a twin—to have any kind +of a sister or brother. Who’s that big boy—the +one with the hair all hanging down on +his face?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s Arthur Duncan.” Dicky’s +whole face shone. “He’s a dandy. He can +lick any boy of his size in the neighborhood. +I bet he could lick any boy of his size in the +world. I bet he could lick his weight in +wild-cats.”</p> + +<p>Maida’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t like +him,” she said. “He’s not polite.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I like him,” Dicky Dore maintained +stoutly. “He’s the best friend I’ve +got anywhere. Arthur hasn’t any mother, +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +and his father’s gone all day. He takes +care of himself. He comes over to my place +a lot. You’ll like him when you know +him.”</p> + +<p>The bell tinkling on his departure did not +ring again till noon. But Maida did not +mind.</p> + +<p>“Granny,” she said after Dicky left, “I +think I’ve made a friend. Not a friend +somebody’s brought to me—but a friend of +my very own. Just think of that!”</p> + +<p>At twelve, Maida watched the children +pour out of the little schoolhouse and disappear +in all directions. At two, she watched +them reappear from all directions and pour +into it again. But between those hours she +was so busy that she did not have time to +eat her lunch until school began again. +After that, she sat undisturbed for an hour.</p> + +<p>In the middle of the afternoon, the bell +rang with an important-sounding tinkle. +Immediately after, the door shut with an +important-sounding slam. The footsteps, +clattering across the room to the show case, +had an important-sounding tap. And the +little girl, who looked inquisitively across +the counter at Maida, had decidedly an important +manner. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> + +<p>She was not a pretty child. Her skin was +too pasty, her blue eyes too full and staring. +But she had beautiful braids of glossy +brown hair that came below her waist. +And you would have noticed her at once because +of the air with which she wore her +clothes and because of a trick of holding her +head very high.</p> + +<p>Maida could see that she was dressed very +much more expensively than the other children +in the neighborhood. Her dark, blue +coat was elaborate with straps and bright +buttons. Her pale-blue beaver hat was covered +with pale-blue feathers. She wore a +gold ring with a turquoise in it, a silver +bracelet with a monogram on it, a little gun-metal +watch pinned to her coat with a gun-metal +pin, and a long string of blue beads +from which dangled a locket.</p> + +<p>Maida noticed all this decoration with +envy, for she herself was never permitted +to wear jewelry. Occasionally, Granny +would let her wear one string from a big box +of bead necklaces which Maida had bought +in Venice.</p> + +<p>“How much is that candy?” the girl +asked, pointing to one of the trays.</p> + +<p>Maida told her. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Dear me, haven’t you anything better +than that?”</p> + +<p>Maida gave her all her prices.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid there’s nothing good enough +here,” the little girl went on disdainfully. +“My mother won’t let me eat cheap candy. +Generally, she has a box sent over twice a +week from Boston. But the one we expected +to-day didn’t come.”</p> + +<p>“The little girl likes to make people think +that she has nicer things than anybody +else,” Maida thought. She started to +speak. If she had permitted herself to go +on, she would have said: “The candy in +this shop is quite good enough for any little +girl. But I won’t sell it to you, anyway.” +But, instead, she said as quietly as she could: +“No, I don’t believe there’s anything here +that you’ll care for. But I’m sure you’ll +find lots of expensive candy on Main +Street.”</p> + +<p>The little girl evidently was not expecting +that answer. She lingered, still looking +into the show case. “I guess I’ll take +five cents’ worth of peppermints,” she said +finally. Some of the importance had gone +out of her voice.</p> + +<p>Maida put the candy into a bag and +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +handed it to her without speaking. The +girl bustled towards the door. Half-way, +she stopped and came back.</p> + +<p>“My name is Laura Lathrop,” she said. +“What’s yours?”</p> + +<p>“Maida.”</p> + +<p>“Maida?” the girl repeated questioningly. +“Maida?—oh, yes, I know—Maida +Flynn. Where did you live before you +came here?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, lots of places.”</p> + +<p>“But where?” Laura persisted.</p> + +<p>“Boston, New York, Newport, Pride’s +Crossing, the Adirondacks, Europe.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my! Have you been to Europe?” +Laura’s tone was a little incredulous.</p> + +<p>“I lived abroad a year.”</p> + +<p>“Can you speak French?”</p> + +<p>“Oui, Mademoiselle, je parle Français un +peu.”</p> + +<p>“Say some more,” Laura demanded.</p> + +<p>Maida smiled. “Un, deux, trois, quatre, +cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix, onze, +douze—”</p> + +<p>Laura looked impressed. “Do you speak +any other language?”</p> + +<p>“Italian and German—a very little.”</p> + +<p>Laura stared hard at her and her look +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +was full of question. But it was evident +that she decided to believe Maida.</p> + +<p>“I live in Primrose Court,” she said, and +now there was not a shadow of condescension +left in her voice. “That large house +at the back with the big lawn about it. I’d +like to have you come and play with me +some afternoon. I’m very busy most of the +time, though. I take music and fancy +dancing and elocution. Next winter, I’m +going to take up French. I’ll send you +word some afternoon when I have time to +play.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” Maida said in her most +civil voice. “Come and play with me sometime,” +she added after a pause.</p> + +<p>“Oh, my mother doesn’t let me play in +other children’s houses,” Laura said airily. +“Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye,” Maida answered.</p> + +<p>She waited until Laura had disappeared +into the court. “Granny,” she called impetuously, +“a little girl’s been here who I +think is the hatefullest, horridest, disagreeablest +thing I ever saw in my life.”</p> + +<p>“Why, what did the choild do?” Granny +asked in surprise.</p> + +<p>“Do?” Maida repeated. “She did everything. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +Why, she—she—” She interrupted +herself to think hard a moment. “Well, +it’s the queerest thing. I can’t tell +you a thing she did, Granny, and yet, all +the time she was here I wanted to slap +her.”</p> + +<p>“There’s manny folks that-a-way,” said +Granny. “The woisest way is to take no +notuce av ut.”</p> + +<p>“Take no notice of it!” Maida stormed. +“It’s just like not taking any notice of a +bee when it’s stinging you.”</p> + +<p>Maida was so angry that she walked into +the living-room without limping.</p> + +<p>At four that afternoon, when the children +came out of school, there was another flurry +of trade. Towards five, it slackened. +Maida sat in her swivel-chair and wistfully +watched the scene in the court. Little boys +were playing top. Little girls were jumping +rope. Once she saw a little girl in a +scarlet cape come out of one of the yards. +On one shoulder perched a fluffy kitten. +Following her, gamboled an Irish setter +and a Skye terrier. Presently it grew dark +and the children began to go indoors. Maida +lighted the gas and lost herself in “Gulliver’s +Travels.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + +<p>The sound of voices attracted her attention +after awhile. She turned in her chair. +Outside, staring into the window, stood a +little boy and girl—a ragged, dirty pair. +Their noses pressed so hard against the +glass that they were flattened into round +white circles. They took no notice of +Maida. Dropping her eyes to her book, she +pretended to read.</p> + +<p>“I boneys that red top, first,” said the +little boy in a piping voice.</p> + +<p>He was a round, brown, pop-eyed, big-mouthed +little creature. Maida could not +decide which he looked most like—a frog or +a brownie. She christened him “the Bogle” +at once.</p> + +<p>“I boneys that little pink doll with the +curly hair, first,” said the girl.</p> + +<p>She was a round, brown little creature, +too—but pretty. She had merry brown +eyes and a merry little red and white smile. +Maida christened her “the Robin.”</p> + +<p>“I boneys that big agate, second,” said +the Bogle.</p> + +<p>“I boneys that little table, second,” said +the Robin.</p> + +<p>“I boneys that knife, third,” said the Bogle. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I boneys that little chair, third,” said +the Robin.</p> + +<p>Maida could not imagine what kind of +game they were playing. She went to the +door. “Come in, children,” she called.</p> + +<p>The children jumped and started to run +away. But they stopped a little way off, +turned and stood as if they were not certain +what to do. Finally the Robin marched +over to Maida’s side and the Bogle followed.</p> + +<p>“Tell me about the game you were playing,” +Maida said. “I never heard of it before.”</p> + +<p>“’Tain’t any game,” the Bogle said.</p> + +<p>“We were just boneying,” the Robin explained. +“Didn’t you ever boney anything?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Why, you boneys things in store windows,” +the Robin went on. “You always +boney with somebody else. You choose one +thing for yours and they choose something +else for theirs until everything in the window +is all chosen up. But of course they +don’t really belong to you. You only play +they do.”</p> + +<p>“I see,” Maida said.</p> + +<p>She went to the window and took out the +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +red top and the little pink doll with curly +hair. “Here, these are the things you boneyed +first. You may have them.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, thank you—thank you—thank you,” +the Robin exclaimed. She kissed the little +pink doll ecstatically, stopping now and then +to look gratefully at Maida.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” the Bogle echoed. He did +not look at Maida but he began at once to +wind his top.</p> + +<p>“What is your name?” Maida asked.</p> + +<p>“Molly Doyle,” the Robin answered. +“And this is my brother, Timmie Doyle.”</p> + +<p>“My name’s Maida. Come and see me +again, Molly, and you, too, Timmie.”</p> + +<p>“Of course I’ll come,” Molly answered, +“and I’m going to name my doll ‘Maida.’”</p> + +<p>Molly ran all the way home, her doll +tightly clutched to her breast. But Timmie +stopped to spin his top six times—Maida +counted.</p> + +<p>No more customers came that evening. +At six, Maida closed and locked the shop.</p> + +<p>After dinner she thought she would read +one of her new books. She settled herself +in her little easy chair by the fire and opened +to a story with a fascinating picture. But +the moment her eyes fell on the page—it +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +was the strangest thing—a drowsiness, as +deep as a fairy’s enchantment, fell upon her. +She struggled with it for awhile, but she +could not throw it off. The next thing she +knew, Granny was helping her up the stairs, +was undressing her, had laid her in her bed. +The next thing she was saying dreamily, +“I made one dollar and eighty-seven cents +to-day. If my papa ever gets into any more +trouble in Wall Street, he can borrow from +me.”</p> + +<p>The next thing, she felt the pillow soft +and cool under her cheek. The next thing—bright +sunlight was pouring through the +window—it was morning again.</p> + +<hr /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<h3>THE SECOND DAY</h3> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>It had rained all that night, but the second +morning dawned the twinklingest kind +of day. It seemed to Maida that Mother +Nature had washed a million tiny, fleecy, +white clouds and hung them out to dry in +the crisp blue air. Everything still dripped +but the brilliant sunshine put a sparkle on +the whole world. Slates of old roofs glistened, +brasses of old doors glittered, silver +of old name-plates shone. Curbstones, +sidewalks, doorsteps glimmered and gleamed. +The wet, ebony-black trunks of the +maples smoked as if they were afire, their +thick-leaved, golden heads flared like burning +torches. Maida stood for a long time at +the window listening to a parrot who called +at intervals from somewhere in the neighborhood. +“Get up, you sleepy-heads! Get +up! Get up!”</p> + +<p>A huge puddle stretched across Primrose +Court. When Maida took her place in the +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +swivel-chair, three children had begun already +to float shingles across its muddy expanse. +Two of them were Molly and Tim +Doyle, the third a little girl whom Maida +did not know. For a time she watched +them, fascinated. But, presently, the +school children crowding into the shop took +all her attention. After the bell rang and +the neighborhood had become quiet again, +she resumed her watch of the mud-puddle +fun.</p> + +<p>Now they were loading their shingles with +leaves, twigs, pebbles, anything that they +could find in the gutters. By lashing the +water into waves, as they trotted in the +wake of their frail craft, they managed to +sail them from one end of the puddle to the +other. Maida followed the progress of +these merchant vessels as breathlessly as +their owners. Some capsized utterly. +Others started to founder and had to be +dragged ashore. A few brought the cruise +to a triumphant finish.</p> + +<p>But Tim soon put an end to this fun. +Unexpectedly, his foot caught somewhere +and he sprawled headlong in the tide. “Oh, +Tim!” Molly said. But she said it without +surprise or anger. And Tim lay flat on his +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +stomach without moving, as if it were a +common occurrence with him. Molly waded +out to him, picked him up and marched him +into the house.</p> + +<p>The other little girl had disappeared. +Suddenly she came out of one of the yards, +clasping a Teddy-bear and a whole family +of dolls in her fat arms. She sat down at +the puddle’s edge and began to undress +them. Maida idly watched the busy little +fingers—one, two, three, four, five—now +there were six shivering babies. What was +she going to do with them? Maida wondered.</p> + +<p>“Granny,” Maida called, “do come and +see this little girl! She’s—” But Maida +did not finish that sentence in words. It +ended in a scream. For suddenly the little +girl threw the Teddy-bear and all the six +dolls into the puddle. Maida ran out the +door. Half-way across the court she met +Dicky Dore swinging through the water. +Between them they fished all the dolls out. +One was of celluloid and another of rubber—they +had floated into the middle of the +pond. Two china babies had sunk to the +very bottom—their white faces smiled +placidly up through the water at their rescuers. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +A little rag-doll lay close to the +shore, water-logged. A pretty paper-doll +had melted to a pulp. And the biggest and +prettiest of them, a lovely blonde creature +with a shapely-jointed body and a bisque +head, covered with golden curls, looked +hopelessly bedraggled.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Betsy Hale!” Dicky said. “You +naughty, naughty girl! How could you +drown your own children like that?”</p> + +<p>“I were divin’ them a baff,” Betsy explained.</p> + +<p>Betsy was a little, round butterball of a +girl with great brown eyes all tangled up in +eyelashes and a little pink rosebud of a +mouth, folded over two rows of mice-teeth. +She smiled deliciously up into Maida’s face:</p> + +<p>“I aren’t naughty, is I?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Naughty? You bunny-duck! Of course +you are,” Maida said, giving her a bear-hug. +“I don’t see how anybody can scold her,” +she whispered to Dicky.</p> + +<p>“Scold her! You can’t,” Dicky said disgustedly. +“She’s too cute. And then if +you did scold her it wouldn’t do any good. +She’s the naughtiest baby in the neighborhood—although,” +he added with pride, “I +think Delia’s going to be pretty nearly as +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +naughty when she gets big enough. But +Betsy Hale—why, the whole street has to +keep an eye on her. Come, pick up your +dollies, Betsy,” he wheedled, “they’ll get +cold if you leave them out here.”</p> + +<p>The thought of danger to her darlings +produced immediate activity on Betsy’s +part. She gathered the dolls under her +cape, hugging them close. “Her must put +her dollies to bed,” she said wisely.</p> + +<p>“Calls herself <span style="font-style: italic">her</span> half the time,” Dicky +explained. He gathered up the dresses and +shooing Betsy ahead of him, followed her +into the yard.</p> + +<p>“She’s the greatest child I ever saw,” he +said, rejoining Maida a little later. “The +things she thinks of to do! Why, the other +day, Miss Allison—the sister of the blind +lady what sits in the window and knits—the +one what owns the parrot—well, Miss Allison +painted one of her old chairs red and put +it out in the yard to dry. Then she washed a +whole lot of lace and put that out to dry. +Next thing she knew she looked out and +there was Betsy washing all the red paint +off the chair with the lace. You’d have +thought that would have been enough for +one day, wouldn’t you? Well, that afternoon +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +she turned the hose on Mr. Flanagan—that’s +the policeman on the beat.”</p> + +<p>“What did he say?” Maida asked in +alarm. She had a vague imaginary picture +of Betsy being dragged to the station-house.</p> + +<p>“Roared! But then Mr. Flanagan thinks +Betsy’s all right. Always calls her ’sophy +Sparkles.’ Betsy runs away about twice a +week. Mr. Flanagan’s always finding her +and lugging her home. I guess every policeman +in Charlestown knows her by this +time. There, look at her now! Did you +ever see such a kid?”</p> + +<p>Betsy had come out of the yard again. +She was carrying a huge feather duster over +her head as if it were a parasol.</p> + +<p>“The darling!” Maida said joyously. “I +hope she’ll do something naughty every +day.”</p> + +<p>“Queer how you love a naughty child,” +Dick said musingly. “They’re an awful +lot of trouble but you can’t help liking them. +Has Tim Doyle fallen into the puddle yet?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, just a little while ago.”</p> + +<p>“He’s always falling in mud puddles. I +guess if Molly fishes him out once after a +rain, she does a half a dozen times.”</p> + +<p>“Do come and see me, Dicky, won’t you?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +Maida asked when they got to the shop door. +“You know I shall be lonely when all the +children are in school and—then besides—you’re +the first friend I’ve made.”</p> + +<p>At the word <span style="font-style: italic">friend</span>, Dicky’s beautiful +smile shone bright. “Sure, I’ll come,” he +said heartily. “I’ll come often.”</p> + +<p>“Granny,” Maida exclaimed, bursting +into the kitchen, “wait until you hear about +Betsy Hale.” She told the whole story. +“Was I ever a naughty little girl?” she concluded.</p> + +<p>“Naughty? Glory be, and what’s ailing +you? ’Twas the best choild this side of +Heaven that you was. Always so sick and +yet niver a cross wurrud out of you.”</p> + +<p>A shadow fell over Maida’s face. “Oh, +dear, dear,” she grieved. “I wish I had been +a naughty child—people love naughty children +so. Are you quite sure I was always +good, Granny?”</p> + +<p>“Why, me blessid lamb, ’twas too sick +that you was to be naughty. You cud +hardly lift one little hand from the bed.”</p> + +<p>“But, Granny, dear,” Maida persisted, +“can’t you think of one single, naughty +thing I did? I’m sure you can if you try +hard.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<p>Maida’s face was touched with a kind of +sad wistfulness. Granny looked down at +her, considerably puzzled. Then a light +seemed to break in her mind. It shone +through her blue eyes and twinkled in her +smile.</p> + +<p>“Sure and Oi moind wance when Oi was +joost afther giving you some medicine and +you was that mad for having to take the +stuff that you sat oop in bed and knocked +iv’ry bottle off the table. Iv’ry wan! Sure, +we picked oop glass for a wake afther.”</p> + +<p>Maida’s wistful look vanished in a peal +of silvery laughter. “Did I really, Granny?” +she asked in delight. “Did I break +every bottle? Are you sure? Every one?”</p> + +<p>“Iv’ry wan as sure as OI’m a living sinner,” +said Granny. “Faith and ’twas the +bad little gyurl that you was often—now +that I sthop to t’ink av ut.”</p> + +<p>Maida bounded back to the shop in high +spirits. Granny heard her say “Every bottle!” +again and again in a whispering little +voice.</p> + +<p>“Just think, Granny,” she called after a +while. “I’ve made one, two, three, four, +five friends—Dicky, Molly, Tim, Betsy and +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +Laura—though I don’t call her quite a +friend yet. Pretty good for so soon!”</p> + +<p>Maida was to make a sixth friend, although +not quite so quickly.</p> + +<p>It began that noontime with a strange little +scene that acted itself out in front of +Maida’s window. The children had begun +to gather for school, although it was still +very quiet. Suddenly around the corner +came a wild hullaballoo—the shouts of small +boys, the yelp of a dog, the rattle and clang +of tin dragged on the brick sidewalk. In +another instant appeared a dog, a small, +yellow cur, collarless and forlorn-looking, +with a string of tin cans tied to his tail, a +horde of small boys yelling after him and +pelting him with stones.</p> + +<p>Maida started up, but before she could get +to the door, something flashed like a scarlet +comet from across the street. It was the +little girl whom Maida had seen twice before—the +one who always wore the scarlet cape.</p> + +<p>Even in the excitement, Maida noticed +how handsome she was. She seemed proud. +She carried her slender, erect little body as +if she were a princess and her big eyes +cast flashing glances about her. Jet-black +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +were her eyes and hair, milk-white were +her teeth but in the olive of her cheeks +flamed a red such as could be matched only +in the deepest roses. Maida christened her +Rose-Red at once.</p> + +<p>Rose-Red lifted the little dog into her +arms with a single swoop of her strong arm. +She yanked the cans from its tail with a +single indignant jerk. Fondling the trembling +creature against her cheek, she talked +first to him, then to his abashed persecutors.</p> + +<p>“You sweet, little, darling puppy, you! +Did they tie the wicked cans to his poor little +tail!” and then—“if ever I catch one of +you boys treating a poor, helpless animal +like this again, I’ll shake the breath out of +your body—was he the beautifullest dog that +ever was? And if that isn’t enough, Arthur +Duncan will lick you all, won’t you, Arthur?” +She turned pleadingly to Arthur.</p> + +<p>Arthur nodded.</p> + +<p>“Nobody’s going to hurt helpless creatures +while I’m about! He was a sweet little, +precious little, pretty little puppy, so he +was.”</p> + +<p>Rose-Red marched into the court with the +puppy, opened a gate and dropped him inside. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> + +<p>“That pup belongs to me, now,” she said +marching back.</p> + +<p>The school bell ringing at this moment +ended the scene.</p> + +<p>“Who’s that little girl who wears the +scarlet cape?” Maida asked Dorothy and +Mabel Clark when they came in together at +four.</p> + +<p>“Rosie Brine,” they answered in chorus.</p> + +<p>“She’s a dreffle naughty girl,” Mabel said +in a whisper, and “My mommer won’t let +me play with her,” Dorothy added.</p> + +<p>“Why not?” Maida asked.</p> + +<p>“She’s a tom-boy,” Mabel informed her.</p> + +<p>“What’s a tom-boy?” Maida asked Billy +that night at dinner.</p> + +<p>“A tom-boy?” Billy repeated. “Why, a +tom-boy is a girl who acts like a boy.”</p> + +<p>“How can a girl be a boy?” Maida queried +after a few moments of thought. +“Why don’t they call her a tom-girl?”</p> + +<p>“Why, indeed?” Billy answered, taking +up the dictionary.</p> + +<p>Certainly Rosie Brine acted like a boy—Maida +proved that to herself in the next few +days when she watched Rose-Red again and +again. But if she were a tom-boy, she was +also, Maida decided, the most beautiful and +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +the most wonderful little girl in the world. +And, indeed, Rosie was so full of energy +that it seemed to spurt out in the continual +sparkle of her face and the continual movement +of her body. She never walked. She +always crossed the street in a series of flying +jumps. She never went through a gate +if she could go over the fence, never climbed +the fence if she could vault it. The scarlet +cape was always flashing up trees, over +sheds, sometimes to the very roofs of the +houses. Her principal diversion seemed to +be climbing lamp-posts. Maida watched +this proceeding with envy. One athletic +leap and Rose-Red was clasping the iron +column half-way up—a few more and she +was swinging from the bars under the lantern. +But she was accomplished in other +ways. She could spin tops, play “cat” and +“shinney” as well as any of the boys. And +as for jumping rope—if two little girls +would swing for her, Rosie could actually +waltz in the rope.</p> + +<p>The strangest thing about Rosie was that +she did not always go to school like the other +children. The incident of the dog happened +on Thursday. Friday morning, when the +children filed into the schoolhouse, Rosie +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +did not follow them. Instead, she hid herself +in a doorway until after the bell rang. +A little later she sneaked out of her hiding +place, joined Arthur Duncan at the corner, +and disappeared into the distance. Just +before twelve they both came back. For a +few moments, they kept well concealed on a +side street, out of sight of Primrose Court. +But, at intervals, Rosie or Arthur would +dart out to a spot where, without being +seen, they could get a glimpse of the church +clock. When the children came out of +school at twelve, they joined the crowd and +sauntered home.</p> + +<p>Monday morning Maida saw them repeat +these maneuvers. She was completely +mystified by them and yet she had an uncomfortable +feeling. They were so stealthy +that she could not help guessing that something +underhand was going on.</p> + +<p>“Do you know Rosie Brine?” Maida +asked Dicky Dore one evening when they +were reading together.</p> + +<p>“Sure!” Dicky’s face lighted up. “Isn’t +she a peach?”</p> + +<p>“They say she is a tom-boy,” Maida objected. +“Is she?”</p> + +<p>“Surest thing you know,” Dicky said +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +cheerfully. “She won’t take a dare. You +ought to see her playing stumps. There’s +nothing a boy can do that she won’t do. +And have you noticed how she can spin a +top—the best I ever saw for a girl.”</p> + +<p>Then boys liked girls to be tom-boys. +This was a great surprise.</p> + +<p>“How does it happen that she doesn’t go +to school often?”</p> + +<p>Dicky grinned. “Hooking jack!”</p> + +<p>“Hooking jack?” Maida repeated in a +puzzled tone.</p> + +<p>“Hooking jack—playing hookey—playing +truant.” Dicky watched Maida’s face +but her expression was still puzzled. “Pretending +to go to school and not going,” he +said at last.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” Maida said. “I understand now.”</p> + +<p>“She just hates school,” Dicky went on. +“They can’t make her go. Old Stoopendale, +the truant officer, is always after her. +Little she cares for old Stoopy though. She +gets fierce beatings for it at home, too. +Funny thing about Rosie—she won’t tell a +lie. And when her mother asks her about +it, she always tells the truth. Sometimes +her mother will go to the schoolhouse door +with her every morning and afternoon for +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +a week. But the moment she stops, Rosie +begins to hook jack again.”</p> + +<p>“Mercy me!” Maida said. In all her +short life she had never heard anything like +this. She was convinced that Rosie Brine +was a very naughty little girl. And yet, +underneath this conviction, burned an ardent +admiration for her.</p> + +<p>“She must be very brave,” she said soberly.</p> + +<p>“Brave! Well, I guess you’d think so! +Arthur Duncan says she’s braver than a lot +of boys he knows. Arthur and she hook +jack together sometimes. And, oh cracky, +don’t they have the good times! They go +down to the Navy Yard and over to the +Monument Grounds. Sometimes they go +over to Boston Common and the Public Garden. +Once they walked all the way to +Franklin Park. And in the summer they +often walk down to Crescent Beach. They +say when I get well, I can go with them.”</p> + +<p>Dicky spoke in the wistful tone with +which he always related the deeds of +stronger children. Maida knew exactly +how he felt—she had been torn by the same +hopes and despairs.</p> + +<p>“Oh, wouldn’t it be grand to be able to +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +do just anything?” she said. “I’m just beginning +to feel as if I could do some of the +things I’ve always wanted to do.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to do them all, sometime,” +Dicky prophesied. “Doc O’Brien says +so.”</p> + +<p>“I think Rosie the beautifullest little +girl,” Maida said. “I wish she’d come into +the shop so that I could get acquainted with +her.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, she’ll come in sometime. You see +the W.M.N.T. is meeting now and we’re +all pretty busy. She’s the only girl in it.”</p> + +<p>“The W.M.N.T.,” Maida repeated. +“What does that mean?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t tell?” Dicky said regretfully. +“It’s the name of our club. Rosie and Arthur +and I are the only ones who belong.”</p> + +<p>After that talk, Maida watched Rosie +Brine closer than ever. If she caught a +glimpse of the scarlet cape in the distance, +it was hard to go on working. She noticed +that Rosie seemed very fond of all helpless +things. She was always wheeling out the +babies in the neighborhood, always feeding +the doves and carrying her kitten about on +her shoulder, always winning the hearts of +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +other people’s dogs and then trying to induce +them not to follow her.</p> + +<p>“It seems strange that she never comes +into the shop,” Maida said mournfully to +Dicky one day.</p> + +<p>“You see she never has any money to +spend,” Dicky explained. “That’s the way +her mother punishes her. But sometimes +she earns it on the sly taking care of babies. +She loves babies and babies always love her. +Delia’ll go to her from my mother any time +and as for Betsy Hale—Rosie’s the only one +who can do anything with her.”</p> + +<p>But a whole week passed. And then one +day, to Maida’s great delight, the tinkle of +the bell preceded the entrance of Rose-Red.</p> + +<p>“Let me look at your tops, please,” Rosie +said, marching to the counter with the usual +proud swing of her body.</p> + +<p>Seen closer, she was even prettier than at +a distance. Her smooth olive skin glistened +like satin. Her lips showed roses even more +brilliant than those that bloomed in her +cheeks. A frown between her eyebrows +gave her face almost a sullen look. But to +offset this, her white teeth turned her smile +into a flash of light. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +Maida lifted all the tops from the window +and placed them on the counter.</p> + +<p>“Mind if I try them?” Rosie asked.</p> + +<p>“Oh, do.”</p> + +<p>Rosie wound one of them with an expert +hand. Then with a quick dash forward of +her whole arm, she threw the top to the +floor. It danced there, humming like a +whole hiveful of bees.</p> + +<p>“Oh, how lovely!” Maida exclaimed. +Then in fervent admiration: “What a +wonderful girl you are!”</p> + +<p>Rosie smiled. “Easy as pie if you know +how. Want to learn?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, will you teach me?”</p> + +<p>“Sure! Begin now.”</p> + +<p>Maida limped from behind the counter. +Rosie watched her. Rosie’s face softened +with the same pity that had shone on the +frightened little dog.</p> + +<p>“She’s sorry for me,” Maida thought. +“How sweet she looks!”</p> + +<p>But Rosie said nothing about Maida’s +limp. She explained the process of top-spinning +from end to end, step by step, +making Maida copy everything that she did. +At first Maida was too eager—her hands +actually trembled. But gradually she +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +gained in confidence. At last she succeeded +in making one top spin feebly.</p> + +<p>“Now you’ve got the hang of it,” Rosie +encouraged her, “You’ll soon learn. All +you want to do is to practice. I’ll come +to-morrow and see how you’re getting on.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, do,” Maida begged, “and come to +see me in the evening sometime. Come this +evening if your mother’ll let you.”</p> + +<p>Rosie laughed scornfully. “I guess nobody’s +got anything to say about <span style="font-style: italic">letting me</span>, +if I make up my mind to come. Well, goodbye!”</p> + +<p>She whirled out of the shop and soon the +scarlet cape was a brilliant spot in the distance.</p> + +<p>But about seven that evening the bell +rang. When Maida opened the door there +stood Rosie.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Rosie,” Maida said joyfully, throwing +her arms about her guest, “how glad I +am to see you!” She hurried her into the +living-room where Billy Potter was talking +with Granny. “This is Rosie Brine, Billy,” +she said, her voice full of pride in her +new friend. “And this is Billy Potter, +Rosie.”</p> + +<p>Billy shook hands gravely with the little +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +girl. And Rosie looked at him in open +wonder. Maida knew exactly what she was +thinking. Rosie was trying to make up her +mind whether he was a boy or a man. The +problem seemed to grow more perplexing as +the evening went on. For part of the time +Billy played with them, sitting on the floor +like a boy, and part of the time he talked +with Granny, sitting in a chair like a man.</p> + +<p>Maida showed Rosie her books, her Venetian +beads, all her cherished possessions. +Rosie liked the canaries better than anything. +“Just think of having six!” she +said. Then, sitting upstairs in Maida’s bedroom, +the two little girls had a long confidential +talk.</p> + +<p>“I’ve been just crazy to know you, +Maida,” Rosie confessed. “But there was +no way of getting acquainted, for you always +stayed in the store. I had to wait until I +could tease mother to buy me a top.”</p> + +<p>“That’s funny,” Maida said, “for I was +just wild to know you. I kept hoping that +you’d come in. I hope you’ll come often, +Rosie, for I don’t know any other little girl +of my own age.”</p> + +<p>“You know Laura Lathrop, don’t you?” +Rosie asked with a sideways look. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes, but I don’t like her.”</p> + +<p>“Nobody likes her,” Rosie said. “She’s +too much of a smarty-cat. She loves to get +people over there and then show off before +them. And then she puts on so many airs. +I won’t have anything to do with her.”</p> + +<p>From the open window came the shrill +scream of Miss Allison’s parrot. “What +do you think of that?” it called over and +over again.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t that a clever bird?” Rosie asked +admiringly. “His name is Tony. I have +lots of fun with him. Did you ever see a +parrot that could talk, before?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, we have several at Pride’s.”</p> + +<p>“Pride’s?”</p> + +<p>“Pride’s Crossing. That’s where we go +summers.”</p> + +<p>“And what do your parrots say?”</p> + +<p>“One talked in French. He used to say +‘Taisez-vous’ so much that sometimes we +would have to put a cover over the cage to +stop him.”</p> + +<p>“And did you have other animals besides +parrots?” Rosie asked. “I love animals.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, we had horses and dogs and cats +and rabbits and dancing mice and marmosets +and macaws and parokets and—I guess +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +I’ve forgotten some of them. But if you +like animals, you ought to go to our place +in the Adirondacks—there are deer preserves +there and pheasants and peacocks.”</p> + +<p>“Who do they belong to?”</p> + +<p>“My father.”</p> + +<p>Rosie considered this. “Does he keep a +bird-place?” she asked in a puzzled tone.</p> + +<p>“No.” Maida’s tone was a little puzzled +too. She did not know what a bird-place +was.</p> + +<p>“Well, did he sell them?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think he ever sold any. He gave +a great many away, though.”</p> + +<p>When Rosie went home, Maida walked as +far as her gate with her.</p> + +<p>“Want to know a secret, Maida?” Rosie +asked suddenly, her eyes dancing with mischief.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes. I love secrets.”</p> + +<p>“Cross your throat then.”</p> + +<p>Maida did not know how to cross her +throat but Rosie taught her.</p> + +<p>“Well, then,” Rosie whispered, “my +mother doesn’t know that I went to your +house. She sent me to bed for being +naughty. And I got up and dressed and +climbed out my window on to the shed without +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +anybody knowing it. She’ll never know +the difference.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Rosie,” Maida said in a horrified +tone, “Please never do it again.” In spite +of herself, Maida’s eyes twinkled.</p> + +<p>But Rosie only laughed. Maida watched +her steal into her yard, watched her climb +over the shed, watched her disappear +through the window.</p> + +<p>But she grieved over the matter as she +walked home. Perhaps it was because she +was thinking so deeply that she did not notice +how quiet they all were in the living-room. +But as she crossed the threshold, a +pair of arms seized her and swung her into +the air.</p> + +<p>“Oh, papa, papa,” she whispered, cuddling +her face against his, “how glad I am +to see you.”</p> + +<p>He marched with her over to the light.</p> + +<p>“Well, little shop-keeper,” he said after +a long pause in which he studied her keenly, +“you’re beginning to look like a real live +girl.” He dropped her gently to her feet. +“Now show me your shop.”</p> + +<hr /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> +<h3>PRIMROSE COURT</h3> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>But during that first two weeks a continual +rush of business made long days +for Maida. All the children in the neighborhood +were curious to see the place. It +had been dark and dingy as long as they +could remember. Now it was always bright +and pretty—always sweet with the perfume +of flowers, always gay with the music of +birds. But more, the children wanted to +see the lame little girl who “tended store,” +who seemed to try so hard to please her customers +and who was so affectionate and respectful +with the old, old lady whom she +called “Granny.”</p> + +<p>At noon and night the bell sounded a continuous +tinkle.</p> + +<p>For a week Maida kept rather close to the +shop. She wanted to get acquainted with +all her customers. Moreover, she wanted to +find out which of the things she had bought +sold quickly and which were unpopular. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> + +<p>After a day or two her life fell into a regular +programme.</p> + +<p>Early in the morning she would put the +shop to rights for the day’s sale, dusting, +replacing the things she had sold, rearranging +them often according to some pretty new +scheme. </p> + +<p>About eight o’clock the bell would call her +into the shop and it would be brisk work +until nine. Then would come a rest of +three hours, broken only by an occasional +customer. In this interval she often +worked in the yard, raking up the leaves +that fell from vine and bush, picking the +bravely-blooming dahlias, gathering sprays +of woodbine for the vases, scattering +crumbs to the birds.</p> + +<p>At twelve the children would begin to +flood the shop again and Maida would be on +her feet constantly until two. Between two +and four came another long rest. After +school trade started up again. Often it +lasted until six, when she locked the door for +the night.</p> + +<p>In her leisure moments she used to watch +the people coming and going in Primrose +Court. With Rosie’s and Dicky’s help, she +soon knew everybody by name. She discovered +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +by degrees that on the right side of +the court lived the Hales, the Clarks, the +Doyles and the Dores; on the left side, the +Duncans, the Brines and the Allisons. In +the big house at the back lived the Lathrops.</p> + +<p>Betsy was a great delight to Maida, for the +neighborhood brimmed with stories of her +mischief. She had buried her best doll in +the ash-barrel, thrown her mother’s pocketbook +down the cesspool, put all the clean +laundry into a tub of water and painted the +parlor fireplace with tomato catsup. In a +single afternoon, having become secretly +possessed of a pair of scissors, she cut all +the fringe off the parlor furniture, cut great +scallops in the parlor curtains, cut great +patches of fur off the cat’s back. When +her mother found her, she was busy cutting +her own hair.</p> + +<p>Often Granny would hear the door slam +on Maida’s hurried rush from the shop. +Hobbling to the window, she would see the +child leading Betsy by the hand. “Running +away again,” was all Maida would say. +Occasionally Maida would call in a vexed +tone, “Now <span style="font-style: italic">how</span> did she creep past the window +without my seeing her?” And outside +would be rosy-cheeked, brass-buttoned Mr. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +Flanagan, carrying Betsy home. Once +Billy arrived at the shop, bearing Betsy in +his arms. “She was almost to the bridge,” +he said, “when I caught sight of her from +the car window. The little tramp!”</p> + +<p>Betsy never seemed to mind being caught. +For an instant the little rosebud that was +her mouth would part over the tiny pearls +that were her teeth. This roguish smile +seemed to say: “You wait until the next +time. You won’t catch me then.”</p> + +<p>Sometimes Betsy would come into the +shop for an hour’s play. Maida loved to +have her there but it was like entertaining +a whirlwind. Betsy had a strong curiosity +to see what the drawers and boxes contained. +Everything had to be put back in +its place when she left.</p> + +<p>Next to the Hales lived the Clarks. By +the end of the first week Maida was the +chief adoration of the Clark twins. Dorothy +and Mabel were just as good as Betsy +was naughty. When they came over to see +Maida, they played quietly with whatever +she chose to give them. It was an hour, +ordinarily, before they could be made to talk +above a whisper. If they saw Maida coming +into the court, they would run to her +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +side, slipping a hot little hand into each of +hers. Attended always by this roly-poly +bodyguard, Maida would limp from group +to group of the playing children. Nobody +in Primrose Court could tell the Clark twins +apart. Maida soon learned the difference +although she could never explain it to anybody +else. “It’s something you have to +feel,” she said.</p> + +<p>Billy Potter enjoyed the twins as much as +Maida did. “Good morning, Dorothy-Mabel,” +he always said when he met one of +them; “is this you or your sister?” And he +always answered their whispered remarks +with whispers so much softer than theirs +that he finally succeeded in forcing them to +raise their shy little voices.</p> + +<p>The Doyles and the Dores lived in one +house next to the Clarks, Molly and Tim on +the first floor, Dicky and Delia above. +Maida became very fond of the Doyle children. +Like Betsy, they were too young to +go to school and she saw a good deal of them +in the lonely school hours. The puddle was +an endless source of amusement to them. +As long as it remained, they entertained +themselves playing along its shores.</p> + +<p>“There’s that choild in the water again,” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +Granny would cry from the living-room.</p> + +<p>Looking out, Maida would see Tim spread +out on all fours. Like an obstinate little +pig, he would lie still until Molly picked him +up. She would take him home and in a few +moments he would reappear in fresh, clean +clothes again.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Tim,” Billy Potter would say +whenever they met. “Fallen into a pud-muddle +lately?”</p> + +<p>The word <span style="font-style: italic">pud-muddle</span> always sent Tim +off into peals of laughter. It was the only +thing Maida had discovered that could make +him laugh, for he was as serious as Molly +was merry. Molly certainly was the jolliest +little girl in the court—Maida had never +seen her with anything but a smiling face.</p> + +<p>Dicky’s mother went to work so early +and came back so late that Maida had never +seen her. But Dicky soon became an intimate. +Maida had begun the reading lessons +and Dicky was so eager to get on that they +were progressing famously.</p> + +<p>The Lathrops lived in the big house at the +back of the court. Granny learned from +the Misses Allison that, formerly, the whole +neighborhood had belonged to the Lathrop +family. But they had sold all their land, +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +piece by piece, except the one big lot on +which the house stood. Perhaps it was because +they had once been so important that +Mrs. Lathrop seemed to feel herself a little +better than the rest of the people in Primrose +Court. At any rate, although she +spoke with all, the Misses Allison were the +only ones on whom she condescended to call. +Maida caught a glimpse of her occasionally +on the piazza—a tall, thin woman, white-haired +and sharp-featured, who always wore +a worsted shawl.</p> + +<p>The house was a big, bulky building, a +mass of piazzas and bay-windows, with a +hexagonal cupola on the top. It was +painted white with green blinds and +trimmed with a great deal of wooden lace. +The wide lawn was well-kept and plots of +flowers, here and there, gave it a gay air.</p> + +<p>Laura had a brother named Harold, who +was short and fat. Harold seemed to do +nothing all day long but ride a wheel at a +tearing pace over the asphalt paths, and +regularly, for two hours every morning, to +draw a shrieking bow across a tortured violin.</p> + +<p>The more Maida watched Laura the less +she liked her. She could see that what Rosie +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +said was perfectly true—Laura put on airs. +Every afternoon Laura played on the lawn. +Her appearance was the signal for all the +small fry of the neighborhood to gather +about the gate. First would come the +Doyles, then Betsy, then, one by one, +the strange children who wandered into the +court, until there would be a row of wistful +little faces stuck between the bars of the +fence. They would follow every move that +Laura made as she played with the toys +spread in profusion upon the grass.</p> + +<p>Laura often pretended not to see them. +She would lift her large family of dolls, +one after another, from cradle to bed and +from bed to tiny chair and sofa. She would +parade up and down the walk, using first +one doll-carriage, then the other. She +would even play a game of croquet against +herself. Occasionally she would call in a +condescending tone, “You may come in for +awhile if you wish, little children.” And +when the delighted little throng had scampered +to her side, she would show them all +her toy treasures on condition that they did +not touch them.</p> + +<p>When the proceedings reached this stage, +Maida would be so angry that she could +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +look no longer. Very often, after Laura +had sent the children away, Maida would +call them into the shop. She would let +them play all the rest of the afternoon with +anything her stock afforded.</p> + +<p>On the right side of the court lived Arthur +Duncan, the Misses Allison and Rosie +Brine. The more Maida saw of Arthur, +the more she disliked him. In fact, she +hated to have him come into the shop. It +seemed to her that he went out of his way +to be impolite to her, that he looked at her +with a decided expression of contempt in +his big dark eyes. But Rosie and Dicky +seemed very fond of him. Billy Potter had +once told her that one good way of judging +people was by the friends they made. +If that were true, she had to acknowledge +that there must be something fine about +Arthur that she had not discovered.</p> + +<p>Maida guessed that the W.M.N.T.’s met +three or four times a week. Certainly +there were very busy doings at Dicky’s or +at Arthur’s house every other day. What +it was all about, Maida did not know. But +she fancied that it had much to do with +Dicky’s frequent purchases of colored tissue +paper. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Misses Allison had become great +friends with Granny. Matilda, the blind +sister, was very slender and sweet-faced. +She sat all day in the window, crocheting +the beautiful, fleecy shawls by which she +helped support the household.</p> + +<p>Jemima, the older, short, fat and with +snapping black eyes, did the housework, attended +to the parrot and waited by inches +on her afflicted sister. Occasionally in the +evening they would come to call on Granny. +Billy Potter was very nice to them both. +He was always telling the sisters the long +amusing stories of his adventures. Miss +Matilda’s gentle face used positively to +beam at these times, and Miss Jemima +laughed so hard that, according to her own +story, his talk put her “in stitches.”</p> + +<p>Maida did not see Rosie’s mother often. +To tell the truth, she was a little afraid of +her. She was a tall, handsome, black-browed +woman—a grown-up Rosie—with +an appearance of great strength and of +even greater temper. “Ah, that choild’s +the limb,” Granny would say, when Maida +brought her some new tale of Rosie’s disobedience. +And yet, in the curious way in +which Maida divined things that were not +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +told her, she knew that, next to Dicky, +Rosie was Granny’s favorite of all the children +in the neighborhood.</p> + +<p>With all these little people to act upon +its stage, it is not surprising that Primrose +Court seemed to Maida to be a little +theater of fun—a stage to which her window +was the royal box. Something was going +on there from morning to night. Here +would be a little group of little girls playing +“house” with numerous families of +dolls. There, it would be boys, gathered in +an excited ring, playing marbles or top. +Just before school, games like leap-frog, or +tag or prisoners’ base would prevail. But, +later, when there was more time, hoist-the-sail +would fill the air with its strange cries, +or hide-and-seek would make the place boil +with excitement. Maida used to watch +these games wistfully, for Granny had decided +that they were all too rough for her. +She would not even let Maida play “London-Bridge-is-falling-down” +or “drop the +handkerchief”—anything, in fact, in which +she would have to run or pull.</p> + +<p>But Granny had no objections to the +gentler fun of “Miss Jennie-I-Jones,” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +“ring-a-ring-a-rounder,” “water, water +wildflower,” “the farmer in the dell,” +“go in and out the windows.” Maida +used to try to pick out the airs of these +games on the spinet—she never could decide +which was the sweetest.</p> + +<p>Maida soon learned how to play jackstones +and, at the end of the second week, +she was almost as proficient as Rosie with +the top. The thing she most wanted to +learn, however, was jump-rope. Every little +girl in Primrose Court could jump-rope—even +the twins, who were especially nimble +at “pepper.” Maida tried it one night—all +alone in the shop. But suddenly her +weak leg gave way under her and she fell +to the floor. Granny, rushing in from the +other room, scolded her violently. She +ended by forbidding her to jump again +without special permission. But Maida +made up her mind that she was going to +learn sometime, even, as she said with a +roguish smile, “if it took a leg.” She +talked it over with Rosie.</p> + +<p>“You let her jump just one jump every +morning and night, Granny,” Rosie advised, +“and I’m sure it will be all right. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +That won’t hurt her any and, after awhile, +she’ll find she can jump two, then three and +so on. That’s the way I learned.”</p> + +<p>Granny agreed to this. Maida practiced +constantly, one jump in her nightgown, just +before going to bed, and another, all +dressed, just after she got up.</p> + +<p>“I jumped three jumps this morning +without failing, Granny,” she said one +morning at breakfast. Within a few days +the record climbed to five, then to seven, +then, at a leap, to ten.</p> + +<p>Dr. Pierce called early one morning. +His eyes opened wide when they fell upon +her. “Well, well, Pinkwink,” he said. +“What do you mean by bringing me way +over here! I thought you were supposed +to be a sick young person. Where’d you +get that color?”</p> + +<p>A flush like that of a pink sweet-pea blossom +had begun to show in Maida’s cheek. +It was faint but it was permanent.</p> + +<p>“Why, you’re the worst fraud on my list. +If you keep on like this, young woman, I +shan’t have any excuse for calling. You’ve +done fine, Granny.”</p> + +<p>Granny looked, as Dr. Pierce afterwards +said, “as tickled as Punch.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> + +<p>“How do you like shop-keeping?” Dr. +Pierce went on.</p> + +<p>“Like it!” Maida plunged into praise +so swift and enthusiastic that Dr. Pierce +told her to go more slowly or he would put +a bit in her mouth. But he listened attentively. +“Well, I see you’re not tired of +it,” he commented.</p> + +<p>“Tired!” Maida’s indignation was so +intense that Dr. Pierce shook until every +curl bobbed.</p> + +<p>“And I get so hungry,” she went on. +“You see I have to wait until two o’clock +sometimes before I can get my lunch, because +from twelve to two are my busy hours. +Those days it seems as if the school bell +would never ring.”</p> + +<p>“Sure, tis a foine little pig OI’m growing +now,” Granny said.</p> + +<p>“And as for sleeping—” Maida stopped +as if there were no words anywhere to describe +her condition.</p> + +<p>Granny finished it for her. “The choild +sleeps like a top.”</p> + +<p>Billy Potter came at least every day and +sometimes oftener. Every child in Primrose +Court knew him by the end of the first +week and every child loved him by the end +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +of the second. And they all called him +Billy. He would not let them call him Mr. +Potter or even Uncle Billy because, he said, +he was a child when he was with them and +he wanted to be treated like a child. He +played all their games with a skill that they +thought no mere grown-up could possess. +Like Rosie, he seemed to be bubbling over +with life and spirits. He was always running, +leaping, jumping, climbing, turning +cartwheels and somersaults, vaulting fences +and “chinning” himself unexpectedly whenever +he came to a doorway.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Masther Billy, ’tis the choild that +you are!” Granny would say, twinkling.</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am,” Billy would answer.</p> + +<p>At the end of the first fortnight, the +neighborhood had accepted Granny and +Maida as the mother-in-law and daughter +of a “traveling man.” From the beginning +Granny had seemed one of them, but +Maida was a puzzle. The children could +not understand how a little girl could be +grown-up and babyish at the same time. +And if you stop to think it over, perhaps +you can understand how they felt.</p> + +<p>Here was a child who had never played, +“London-Bridge-is-falling-down” or jackstones +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +or jump-rope or hop-scotch. Yet +she talked familiarly of automobiles, yachts +and horses. She knew nothing about geography +and yet, her conversation was full +of such phrases as “The spring we were in +Paris” or “The winter we spent in Rome.” +She knew nothing about nouns and verbs +but she talked Italian fluently with the +hand-organ man who came every week and +many of her books were in French. She +knew nothing about fractions or decimals, +yet she referred familiarly to “drawing +checks,” to gold eagles and to Wall Street. +Her writing was so bad that the children +made fun of it, yet she could spin off a letter +of eight pages in a flash. And she told +the most wonderful fairy-tales that had ever +been heard in Primrose Court.</p> + +<p>Because of all these things the children +had a kind of contempt for her mingled +with a curious awe.</p> + +<p>She was so polite with grown people that +it was fairly embarrassing. She always +arose from her chair when they entered the +room, always picked up the things they +dropped and never interrupted. And yet +she could carry on a long conversation with +them. She never said, “Yes, ma’am,” or +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +“No, ma’am.” Instead, she said, “Yes, +Mrs. Brine,” or “No, Miss Allison,” and +she looked whomever she was talking with +straight in the eye.</p> + +<p>She would play with the little children +as willingly as with the bigger ones. Often +when the older girls and boys were in +school, she would bring out a lapful of toys +and spend the whole morning with the little +ones. When Granny called her, she +would give all the toys away, dividing +them with a careful justice. And, yet, +whenever children bought things of her in +the shop, she always expected them to pay +the whole price. You can see how the +neighborhood would fairly buzz with talk +about her.</p> + +<p>As for Maida—with all this newness +of friend-making and out-of-doors games, +it is not to be wondered that her head was +a jumble at the end of each day. In that +delicious, dozy interval before she fell +asleep at night, all kinds of pretty pictures +seemed to paint themselves on her eyelids.</p> + +<p>Now it was Rose-Red swaying like a +great overgrown scarlet flower from the +bars of a lamp-post. Now it was Dicky +hoisting himself along on his crutches, his +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +face alight with his radiant smile. Now +it was a line of laughing, rosy-cheeked children, +as long as the tail of a kite, pelting +to goal at the magic cry “Liberty poles are +bending!” Or it was a group of little girls, +setting out rows and rows of bright-colored +paper-dolls among the shadows of one of the +deep old doorways. But always in a few +moments came the sweetest kind of sleep. +And always through her dreams flowed the +plaintive music of “Go in and out the windows.” +Often she seemed to wake in the +morning to the Clarion cry, “Hoist the +sail!”</p> + +<p>It did not seem to Maida that the days +were long enough to do all the things she +wanted to do.</p> + +<hr /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<h3>TWO CALLS</h3> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>One morning, Laura Lathrop came +bustling importantly into the shop. +“Good morning, Maida,” she said; “you +may come over to my house this afternoon +and play with me if you’d like.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Laura,” Maida answered. +To anybody else, she would have added, “I +shall be delighted to come.” But to Laura, +she only said, “It is kind of you to ask +me.”</p> + +<p>“From about two until four,” Laura +went on in her most superior tone. “I suppose +you can’t get off for much longer than +that.”</p> + +<p>“Granny is always willing to wait on +customers if I want to play,” Maida explained, +“but I think she would not want +me to stay longer than that, anyway.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, then. Shall we say at two?” +Laura said this with a very grown-up air. +Maida knew that she was imitating her +mother. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + +<p>Laura had scarcely left when Dicky appeared, +swinging between his crutches. +“Maida,” he said, “I want you to come over +to-morrow afternoon and see my place. +You’ve not seen Delia yet and there’s a +whole lot of things I want to show you. +I’m going to clean house to-day so’s I’ll +be all ready for you to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, thank you,” Maida said. The +sparkle that always meant delight came into +her face. “I shall be delighted. I’ve always +wanted to go over and see you ever +since I first knew you. But Granny said +to wait until you invited me. And I really +have never seen Delia except when Rosie’s +had her in the carriage. And then she’s always +been asleep.”</p> + +<p>“You have to see Delia in the house to +know what a naughty baby she is,” Dicky +said. He spoke as if that were the +finest tribute that he could pay his little +sister.</p> + +<p>“Granny,” Maida said that noon at +lunch, “Laura Lathrop came here and invited +me to come to see her this afternoon +and I just hate the thought of going—I +don’t know why. Then Dicky came and invited +me to come and see him to-morrow +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +afternoon and I just love the thought of +going. Isn’t it strange?”</p> + +<p>“Very,” Granny said, smiling. “But +you be sure to be a noice choild this afternoon, +no matter what that wan says to you.”</p> + +<p>Granny always referred to Laura as +“that wan.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, I’ll be good, Granny. Isn’t it +funny,” Maida went on. The tone of her +voice showed that she was thinking hard. +“Laura makes me mad—oh, just hopping +mad,”—“hopping mad” was one of Rosie’s +expressions—“and yet it seems to me I’d +die before I’d let her know it.”</p> + +<p>Laura was waiting for her on the piazza +when Maida presented herself at the Lathrop +door. “Won’t you come in and take +your things off, first?” she said. “I thought +we’d play in the house for awhile.”</p> + +<p>She took Maida immediately upstairs to +her bedroom—a large room all furnished in +blue—blue paper, blue bureau scarf covered +with lace, blue bed-spread covered with +lace, a big, round, blue roller where the pillows +should be.</p> + +<p>“How do you like my room, Maida?”</p> + +<p>“It’s very pretty.”</p> + +<p>“This is my toilet-set.” Laura pointed +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +to the glittering articles on the bureau. +“Papa’s given them to me, one piece at a +time. It’s all of silver and every thing has +my initials on it. What is your set of?”</p> + +<p>Laura paused before she asked this last +question and darted one of her sideways +looks at Maida. “She thinks I haven’t any +toilet-set and she wants to make me say so,” +Maida thought. “Ivory,” she said aloud.</p> + +<p>“Ivory! I shouldn’t think that would be +very pretty.”</p> + +<p>Laura opened her bureau drawers, one at +a time, and showed Maida the pretty +clothes packed in neat piles there. She +opened the large closet and displayed elaborately-made +frocks, suspended on hangers. +And all the time, with little sharp, sideways +glances, she was studying the effect on +Maida. But Maida’s face betrayed none of +the wonder and envy that Laura evidently +expected. Maida was very polite but it was +evident that she was not much interested.</p> + +<p>Next they went upstairs to a big playroom +which covered the whole top of the +house. Shelves covered with books and +toys lined the walls. A fire, burning in the +big fireplace, made it very cheerful.</p> + +<p>“Oh, what a darling doll-house,” Maida +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +exclaimed, pausing before the miniature +mansion, very elegantly furnished.</p> + +<p>“Oh, do you like it?” Laura beamed with +pride.</p> + +<p>“I just love it! Particularly because it’s +so little.”</p> + +<p>“Little!” Laura bristled. “I don’t +think it’s so very little. It’s the biggest +doll-house I ever saw. Did you ever see a +bigger one?”</p> + +<p>Maida looked embarrassed. “Only one.”</p> + +<p>“Whose was it?”</p> + +<p>“It was the one my father had built for +me at Pride’s. It was too big to be a doll’s +house. It was really a small cottage. +There were four rooms—two upstairs and +two downstairs and a staircase that you +could really walk up. But I don’t like it +half so well as this one,” Maida went on +truthfully. “I think it’s very queer but, +somehow, the smaller things are the better +I like them. I guess it’s because I’ve +seen so many big things.”</p> + +<p>Laura looked impressed and puzzled at +the same time. “And you really could +walk up the stairs? Let’s go up in the cupola,” +she suggested, after an uncertain interval +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +in which she seemed to think of +nothing else to show.</p> + +<p>The stairs at the end of the playroom led +into the cupola. Maida exclaimed with delight +over the view which she saw from the +windows. On one side was the river with +the draw-bridge, the Navy Yard and the +monument on Bunker Hill. On the other +stretched the smoky expanse of Boston with +the golden dome of the state house gleaming +in the midst of a huge, red-brick huddle.</p> + +<p>“Did you have a cupola at Pride’s Crossing?” +Laura asked triumphantly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no—how I wish I had!”</p> + +<p>Laura beamed again.</p> + +<p>“Laura likes to have things other people +haven’t,” Maida thought.</p> + +<p>Her hostess now conducted her back over +the two flights of stairs to the lower floor. +They went into the dining-room, which was +all shining oak and glittering cut-glass; +into the parlor, which was filled with gold +furniture, puffily upholstered in blue brocade; +into the libraries, which Maida liked +best of all, because there were so many +books and—</p> + +<p>“Oh, oh, oh!” she exclaimed, stopping before +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +one of the pictures; “that’s Santa +Maria in Cosmedin. I haven’t seen that +since I left Rome.”</p> + +<p>“How long did you stay in Rome, little +girl?” a voice asked back of her. Maida +turned. Mrs. Lathrop had come into the +room.</p> + +<p>Maida arose immediately from her chair. +“We stayed in Rome two months,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Indeed. And where else did you go?”</p> + +<p>“London, Paris, Florence and Venice.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know these other pictures?” +Mrs. Lathrop asked. “I’ve been collecting +photographs of Italian churches.”</p> + +<p>Maida went about identifying the places +with little cries of joy. “Ara Coeli—I saw +in there the little wooden bambino who +cures sick people. It’s so covered with +bracelets and rings and lockets and pins +and chains that grateful people have given +it that it looks as if it were dressed in +jewels. The bambino’s such a darling little +thing with such a sweet look in its face. +That’s St. Agnes outside the wall—I saw +two dear little baby lambs blessed on the +altar there on St. Agnes’s day. One was +all covered with red garlands and the other +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +with green. Oh, they were such sweethearts! +They were going to use the fleece +to make some garment for the pope. +That’s Santa Maria della Salute—they call +it Santa Maria della <span style="font-style: italic">Volute</span> instead of <span style="font-style: italic">Salute</span> +because it’s all covered with volutes.” +Maida smiled sunnily into Mrs. Lathrop’s +face as if expecting sympathy with this +architectural joke.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Lathrop did not smile. She +looked a little staggered. She studied +Maida for a long time out of her shrewd, +light eyes.</p> + +<p>“Whose family did you travel with?” +she asked at last.</p> + +<p>Maida felt a little embarrassed. If Mrs. +Lathrop asked her certain questions, it +would place her in a very uncomfortable +position. On the one hand, Maida could +not tell a lie. On the other, her father had +told her to tell nobody that she was his +daughter.</p> + +<p>“The family of Mr. Jerome Westabrook,” +she said at last.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” It was the “oh” of a person who +is much impressed. “‘Buffalo’ Westabrook?” +Mrs. Lathrop asked. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Did your grandmother, Mrs. Flynn, go +with you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lathrop continued to look very hard +at Maida. Her eyes wandered over the little +blue frock—simple but of the best materials—over +the white “tire” of a delicate +plaided nainsook, trimmed with Valenciennes +lace, the string of blue Venetian +beads, the soft, carefully-fitted shoes.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Westabrook has a little girl, hasn’t +he?” Mrs. Lathrop said.</p> + +<p>Maida felt extremely uncomfortable now. +But she looked Mrs. Lathrop straight in +the eye. “Yes,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“About your age?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“She is an invalid, isn’t she?”</p> + +<p>“She <span style="font-style: italic">was</span>,” Maida said with emphasis.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lathrop did not ask any more questions. +She went presently into the back library. +An old gentleman sat there, reading.</p> + +<p>“That little girl who keeps the store at +the corner is in there, playing with Laura, +father,” she said. “I guess her grandmother +was a servant in <span style="font-style: normal">‘Buffalo’</span> Westabrook’s +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +family, for they traveled abroad a +year with the Westabrook family. Evidently, +they give her all the little Westabrook +girl’s clothes—she’s dressed quite out +of keeping with her station in life. Curious +how refinement rubs off—the child has +really a good deal of manner. I don’t know +that I quite like to have Laura playing with +her, though.”</p> + +<p>The two little girls returned after awhile +to the playroom.</p> + +<p>“How would you like to have me dance +for you?” Laura asked abruptly. “You +know I take fancy dancing.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Laura,” Maida said delightedly +“will you?”</p> + +<p>“Of course I will,” Laura said with her +most beaming expression. “You wait here +while I go downstairs and get into my costume. +Watch that door, for I shall make +my entrance there.”</p> + +<p>Maida waited what seemed a long time +to her. Then suddenly Laura came whirling +into the room. She had put on a little +frock of pale-blue liberty silk that lay, +skirt, bodice and tiny sleeves, in many little +pleats—“accordion-pleated,” Laura afterwards +described it. Laura’s neck and arms +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +were bare. She wore blue silk stockings +and little blue-kid slippers, heelless and tied +across the ankles with ribbons. Her hair +hung in a crimpy torrent to below her waist.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Laura, how lovely you do look!” +Maida said, “I think you’re perfectly beautiful!”</p> + +<p>Laura smiled. Lifting both arms above +her head, she floated about the room, dancing +on the very tips of her toes. Turning +and smiling over her shoulder, she bent and +swayed and attitudinized. Maida could +have watched her forever.</p> + +<p>In a few moments she disappeared again. +This time she came back in a red-silk frock +with a little bolero jacket of black velvet, +hung with many tinkling coins. Whenever +her fingers moved, a little pretty clapping +sound came from them—Maida discovered +that she carried tiny wooden clappers. +Whenever her heels came together, a pretty +musical clink came from them—Maida discovered +that on her shoes were tiny metal +plates.</p> + +<p>Once again Laura went out. This time, +she returned dressed like a little sailor boy. +She danced a gay little hornpipe.</p> + +<p>“I never saw anything so marvelous in +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +my life,” Maida said, her eyes shining with +enjoyment. “Oh, Laura how I wish I could +dance like that. How did you ever learn? +Do you practice all the time?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s not so very hard—for me,” +Laura returned. “Of course, everybody +couldn’t learn. And I suppose you, being +lame, could never do anything at all.”</p> + +<p>This was the first allusion that had been +made in Primrose Court to Maida’s lameness. +Her face shadowed a little. “No, +I’m afraid I couldn’t,” she said regretfully. +“But—oh—think what a lovely dancer +Rosie would make.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid Rosie’s too rough,” Laura +said. She unfolded a little fan and began +fanning herself languidly. “It’s a great +bother sometimes,” she went on in a bored +tone of voice. “Everybody is always asking +me to dance at their parties. I danced +at a beautiful May party last year. Did +you ever see a May-pole?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” Maida said. “My birthday +comes on May Day and last year father +gave me a party. He had a May-pole set +up on the lawn and all the children danced +about it.”</p> + +<p>“My birthday comes in the summer, too. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +I always have a party on our place in +Marblehead,” Laura said. “I had fifty +children at my party last year. How many +did you have?”</p> + +<p>“We sent out over five hundred invitations, +I believe. But not quite four hundred +accepted.”</p> + +<p>“Four hundred,” Laura repeated. +“Goodness, what could so many children +do?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, there were all sorts of things for +them to do,” Maida answered. “There +was archery and diabolo and croquet and +fishing-ponds and a merry-go-round and +Punch and Judy on the lawn and a play in +my little theater—I can’t remember everything.”</p> + +<p>Laura’s eyes had grown very big. +“Didn’t you have a perfectly splendiferous +time?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“No, not particularly,” Maida said. +“Not half such a good time as I’ve had +playing in Primrose Court. I wasn’t very +well and then, somehow, I didn’t care for +those children the way I care for Dicky and +Rosie and the court children.”</p> + +<p>“Goodness!” was all Laura could say for +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +a moment. But finally she added, “I don’t +believe that, Maida!”</p> + +<p>Maida stared at her and started to speak. +“Oh, there’s the clock striking four?” was +all she said though. “I must go. Thank +you for dancing for me.”</p> + +<p>She flew into her coat and hat. She +could not seem to get away quick enough. +Nobody had ever doubted her word before. +She could not exactly explain it to herself +but she felt if she talked with Laura another +moment, she would fly out of her skin.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>“Mother,” Laura said, after Maida had +gone, “Maida Flynn told me that her father +gave her a birthday party last year and invited +five hundred children to it and they +had a theater and a Punch and Judy show +and all sorts of things. Do you think it’s +true?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lathrop set her lips firmly. “No, +I think it is probably not true. I think +you’d better not play with the little Flynn +girl any more.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The next afternoon, Maida went, as she +had promised, to see Dicky. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> + +<p>She could see at a glance that Mrs. Dore +was having a hard struggle to support her +little family. In the size and comfort of +its furnishings, the place was the exact opposite +of the Lathrop home. But, somehow, +there was a wonderful feeling of home +there.</p> + +<p>“Dicky, how do you manage to keep so +clean here?” Maida asked in genuine wonder.</p> + +<p>And indeed, hard work showed everywhere. +The oilcloth shone like glass. The +stove was as clean as a newly-polished shoe. +The rows of pans on the wall fairly twinkled. +Delicious smells were filling the air. +Maida guessed that Dicky was making one +of the Irish stews that were his specialty.</p> + +<p>“See that little truck over there?” Dicky +said. “That helps a lot. Arthur Duncan +made that for me. You see we have to +keep our coal in that closet, way across the +room. I used to get awful tired filling the +coal-hod and lugging it over to the stove. +But now you see I fill that truck at the +closet, wheel it over to the stove and I don’t +have to think of coal for three days.”</p> + +<p>“Arthur must be a very clever boy,” +Maida said thoughtfully. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> + +<p>“You bet he is. See that tin can in the +sink? Well, I wanted a soap-shaker but +couldn’t afford to get one. Arthur took +that can and punched the bottom full of +holes. I keep it filled up with all the odds +and ends of soap. When I wash the dishes, +I just let the boiling water from the kettle +flow through it. It makes water grand +and soapy. Arthur made me that iron +dish-rag and that dish-mop.”</p> + +<p>A sleepy cry came from the corner. +Dicky swung across the room. Balancing +himself against the cradle there, he lifted +the baby to the floor. “She can’t walk yet +but you watch her go,” he said proudly.</p> + +<p>Go! The baby crept across the room so +fast that Maida had to run to keep up with +her. “Oh, the love!” she said, taking Delia +into her arms. “Think of having a whole +baby to yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t leave a thing round where she is,” +Dicky said proudly, as if this were the best +thing he could say about her. “Have to +put <span style="font-style: italic">my</span> work away the moment she wakes +up. Isn’t she a buster, though?”</p> + +<p>“I should say she was!” And indeed, +the baby was as fat as a little partridge. +Maida wondered how Dicky could lift her. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +Also Delia was as healthy-looking as Dicky +was sickly. Her cheeks showed a pink that +was almost purple and her head looked like +a mop, so thickly was it overgrown with +tangled, red-gold curls.</p> + +<p>“Is she named after your mother?” +Maida asked.</p> + +<p>“No—after my grandmother in Ireland. +But of course we don’t call her anything +but ‘baby’ yet. My, but she’s a case! If +I didn’t watch her all the time, every pan +in this room would be on the floor in a +jiffy. And she tears everything she puts +her hands on.”</p> + +<p>“Granny must see her sometime—Granny’s +name is Delia.”</p> + +<p>“Hi, stop that!” Dicky called. For +Delia had discovered the little bundle that +Maida had placed on a chair, and was busy +trying to tear it open.</p> + +<p>“Let her open it,” Maida said, “I brought +it for her.”</p> + +<p>They watched.</p> + +<p>It took a long time, but Delia sat down, +giving her whole attention to it. Finally +her busy fingers pulled off so much paper +that a pair of tiny rubber dolls dropped into +her lap. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Say ‘Thank you, Maida,’” Dicky +prompted.</p> + +<p>Delia said something and Dicky assured +her that the baby had obeyed him. It +sounded like, “Sank-oo-Maysa.”</p> + +<p>While Delia occupied herself with the +dolls, Maida listened to Dicky’s reading +lesson. He was getting on beautifully now. +At least he could puzzle out by himself +some of the stories that Maida lent him. +When they had finished that day’s fairy-tale, +Dicky said:</p> + +<p>“Did you ever see a peacock, Maida?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes—a great many.”</p> + +<p>“Where?”</p> + +<p>“I saw ever so many in the Jardin des +Plantes in Paris and then my father has +some in his camp in the Adirondacks.”</p> + +<p>“Has he many?”</p> + +<p>“A dozen.”</p> + +<p>“I’m just wild to see one. Are they as +beautiful as that picture in the fairy-tale?”</p> + +<p>“They’re as beautiful as—as—” Maida +groped about in her mind to find something +to compare them to “—as angels,” she said +at last.</p> + +<p>“And do they really open their tails like +a fan?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> + +<p>“That is the most wonderful sight, Dicky, +that you ever saw.” Maida’s manner was +almost solemn. “When they unfurl the +whole fan and the sun shines on all the +green and blue eyes and on all the little gold +feathers, it’s so beautiful. Well, it makes +you ache. I <span style="font-style: italic">cried</span> the first time I saw one. +And when their fans are down, they carry +them so daintily, straight out, not a single +feather trailing on the ground. There are +two white peacocks on the Adirondacks +place.”</p> + +<p>“<span style="font-style: italic">White</span> peacocks! I never heard of +white ones.”</p> + +<p>“They’re not common.”</p> + +<p>“Think of seeing a dozen peacocks every +day!” Dicky exclaimed. “Jiminy crickets! +Why, Maida, your life must have been just +like a fairy-tale when you lived there.”</p> + +<p>“It seems more like a fairy-tale here.”</p> + +<p>They laughed at this difference of opinion.</p> + +<p>“Dicky,” Maida asked suddenly, “do you +know that Rosie steals out of her window +at night sometimes when her mother doesn’t +know it?”</p> + +<p>“Sure—I know that. You see,” he went +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +on to explain, “it’s like this. Rosie is an +awful bad girl in some ways—there’s no +doubt about that. But my mother says +Rosie isn’t as bad as she seems. My mother +says Rosie’s mother has never learned how +to manage her. She whips Rosie an awful +lot. And the more she whips Rosie, the +naughtier she gets. Rosie says she’s going +to run away some day, and by George, I +bet she’ll do it. She always does what she +says she’ll do.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it dreadful?” Maida said in a +frightened tone. “Run away! I never +heard of such a thing. Think of having a +mother and then not getting along with her. +Suppose she died sometime, as my mother +did.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what I’d do without my +mother,” Dicky said thoughtfully. “But +then I’ve got the best mother that ever was. +I wish she didn’t have to work so hard. +But you wait until I get on my feet. Then +you’ll see how I’m going to earn money for +her.”</p> + +<p>When Maida got home that night, Billy +Potter sat with Granny in the living-room. +Maida came in so quietly that they took no +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +notice of her. Granny was talking. Maida +could see that the tears were coursing down +the wrinkles in her cheeks.</p> + +<p>“And after that, the poor choild ran away +to America and I niver have seen her since. +Her father died repenting av his anger +aginst her. But ut was too late. At last, +in me old age, Oi came over to America, +hoping Oi cud foind her. But, glory be, Oi +had no idea ’twas such a big place! And +Oi’ve hunted and Oi’ve hunted and Oi’ve +hunted. But niver a track of her cud Oi +foind—me little Annie!”</p> + +<p>Billy’s face was all screwed up, but it was +not with laughter. “Did you ever speak to +Mr. Westabrook about it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Misther Westabruk done iv’ry t’ing +he cud—the foine man that he is. +Adver<span style="font-style: italic">tise</span>ments +and <span style="font-style: italic">de</span>tayktives, +but wid all his +money, he cudn’t foind out a t’ing. If ut +wasn’t for my blissed lamb, I’d pray to the +saints to let me die.”</p> + +<p>Maida knew what they were talking about—Granny +had often told her the sad story +of her lost daughter.</p> + +<p>“What town in Ireland did you live in, +Granny?” Billy asked.</p> + +<p>“Aldigarey, County Sligo.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +“Now don’t you get discouraged, Granny,” +Billy said, “I’m going to find your +daughter for you.”</p> + +<p>He jumped to his feet and walked about +the room. “I’m something of a detective +myself, and you’ll see I’ll make good on this +job if it takes twenty years.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Billy, do—please do,” Maida burst +in. “It will make Granny so happy.”</p> + +<p>Granny seemed happier already. She +dried her tears.</p> + +<p>“’Tis the good b’y ye are, Misther Billy,” +she said gratefully.</p> + +<p>“Yes, m’m,” said Billy.</p> + +<hr /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<h3>TROUBLE</h3> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>The next week was a week of trouble +for Maida. Everything seemed to go +wrong from the first tinkle of the bell, Monday +morning, to the last tinkle Saturday +night.</p> + +<p>It began with a conversation.</p> + +<p>Rosie came marching in early Monday, +head up, eyes flaming.</p> + +<p>“Maida,” she began at once, in her quickest, +briskest tone, “I’ve got something to +tell you. Laura Lathrop came over to +Dicky’s house the other day while the W.M.N.T.’s +were meeting and she told us the +greatest mess of stuff about you. I told her +I was coming right over and tell you about +it and she said, ‘All right, you can.’ Laura +said that you said that last summer you had +a birthday party that you invited five hundred +children to. She said that you said +that you had a May-pole at this party and +a fish pond and a Punch and Judy show +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +and all sorts of things. She said that you +said that you had a big doll-house and a little +theater all your own. I said that I +didn’t believe that you told her all that. Did +you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, I told her that—and more,” +Maida answered directly.</p> + +<p>“Laura said it was all a pack of lies, but +I don’t believe that. Is it all true?”</p> + +<p>“It’s all true,” Maida said.</p> + +<p>Rosie looked at her hard. “You know, +Maida,” she went on after awhile, “you +told me about a lot of birds and animals +that your father had. I thought he kept +a bird-place. But Dicky says you told him +that your father had twelve peacocks, not +in a store, but in a place where he lives.” +She paused and looked inquiringly at +Maida.</p> + +<p>Maida answered the look. “Yes, I told +him that.”</p> + +<p>“And it’s all true?” Rosie asked again.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it’s all true,” Maida repeated.</p> + +<p>Rosie hesitated a moment. “Harold +Lathrop says that you’re daffy.”</p> + +<p>Maida said nothing.</p> + +<p>“Arthur Duncan says,” Rosie went on +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +more timidly, “that you probably dreamed +those things.”</p> + +<p>Still Maida said nothing.</p> + +<p>“Do you think you did dream them, +Maida?”</p> + +<p>Maida smiled. “No, I didn’t dream +them.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I thought of another thing,” +Rosie went on eagerly. “Miss Allison told +mother that Granny told her that you’d +been sick for a long time. And I thought, +maybe you were out of your head and imagined +those things. Oh, Maida,” Rosie’s +voice actually coaxed her to favor this +theory, “don’t you think you imagined +them?”</p> + +<p>Maida laughed. “No, Rosie,” she said +in her quietest voice, “I did not imagine +them.”</p> + +<p>For a moment neither of the two little +girls spoke. But they stared, a little defiantly, +into each other’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“What did Dicky say?” Maida asked +after awhile.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Dicky said he would believe anything +you told him, no matter what it was. +Dicky says he believes you’re a princess in +disguise—like in fairy-tales.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Dear, dear Dicky!” Maida said. “He +was the first friend I made in Primrose +Court and I guess he’s the best one.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I guess I’m your friend,” Rosie +said, firing up; “I told that little smarty-cat +of a Laura if she ever said one word +against you, I’d slap her good and hard. +Only—only—it seems strange that a little +girl who’s just like the rest of us should +have story-book things happening to her all +the time. If it’s true—then fairy-tales are +true.” She paused and looked Maida +straight in the eye. “I can’t believe it, +Maida. But I know you believe it. And +that’s all there is to it. But you’d better +believe I’m your friend.”</p> + +<p>Saying which she marched out.</p> + +<p>Maida’s second trouble began that night.</p> + +<p>It had grown dark. Suddenly, without +any warning, the door of the shop flew open. +For an instant three or four voices filled the +place with their yells. Then the door shut. +Nothing was heard but the sound of running +feet.</p> + +<p>Granny and Maida rushed to the door. +Nobody was in sight.</p> + +<p>“Who was it? What does it mean, Granny?” +Maida asked in bewilderment. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +“Only naughty b’ys, taysing you,” +Granny explained.</p> + +<p>Maida had hardly seated herself when the +performance was repeated. Again she +rushed to the door. Again she saw nobody. +The third time she did not stir from her +chair.</p> + +<p>Tuesday night the same thing happened. +Who the boys were Maida could not find +out. Why they bothered her, she could not +guess.</p> + +<p>“Take no notuce av ut, my lamb,” Granny +counselled. “When they foind you pay no +attintion to ut, they’ll be afther stopping.”</p> + +<p>Maida followed Granny’s advice. But +the annoyance did not cease and she began +to dread the twilight. She made up her +mind that she must put an end to it soon. +She knew she could stop it at once by appealing +to Billy Potter. And, yet, somehow, +she did not want to ask for outside +help. She had a feeling of pride about +handling her own troubles.</p> + +<p>One afternoon Laura came into the shop. +It was the first time that Maida had seen +her since the afternoon of her call and +Maida did not speak. She felt that she +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +could not have anything to do with Laura +after what had happened. But she looked +straight at Laura and waited.</p> + +<p>Laura did not speak either. She looked +at Maida as if she had never seen her before. +She carried her head at its highest +and she moved across the room with her +most important air. As she stood a moment +gazing at the things in the show case, +she had never seemed more patronizing.</p> + +<p>“A cent’s worth of dulse, please,” she +said airily.</p> + +<p>“Dulse?” Maida repeated questioningly; +“I guess I haven’t any. What is dulse?”</p> + +<p>“Haven’t any dulse?” Laura repeated +with an appearance of being greatly +shocked. “Do you mean to say you haven’t +any dulse?”</p> + +<p>Maida did not answer—she put her lips +tight together.</p> + +<p>“This is a healthy shop,” Laura went on +in a sneering tone, “no mollolligobs, no apple-on-the-stick, +no tamarinds, no pop-corn +balls, no dulse. Why don’t you sell the +things we want? Half the children in the +neighborhood are going down to Main +Street to get them now.”</p> + +<p>She bustled out of the shop. Maida +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +stared after her with wide, alarmed eyes. +For a moment she did not stir. Then she +ran into the living-room and buried her face +in Granny’s lap, bursting into tears.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Granny,” she sobbed, “Laura Lathrop +says that half the children don’t like +my shop and they’re going down to Main +Street to buy things. What shall I do? +What shall I do?”</p> + +<p>“There, there, acushla,” Granny said +soothingly, taking the trembling little girl +on to her lap. “Don’t worry about anny +t’ing that wan says. ’Tis a foine little shop +you have, as all the grown folks says.”</p> + +<p>“But, Granny,” Maida protested passionately, +“I don’t want to please the grown +people, I want to please the children. And +papa said I must make the store pay. And +now I’m afraid I never will. Oh, what +shall I do?”</p> + +<p>She got no further. A tinkle of the bell, +followed by pattering footsteps, interrupted. +In an instant, Rosie, brilliant in +her scarlet cape and scarlet hat, with cheeks +and lips the color of cherries, stood at her +side.</p> + +<p>“I saw that hateful Laura come out of +here,” she said. “I just knew she’d come +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +in to make trouble. What did she say to +you?”</p> + +<p>Maida told her slowly between her sobs.</p> + +<p>“Horrid little smarty-cat!” was Rosie’s +comment and she scowled until her face +looked like a thunder-cloud.</p> + +<p>“I shall never speak to her again,” Maida +declared fervently. “But what shall I do +about it, Rosie?—it may be true what she +said.”</p> + +<p>“Now don’t you get discouraged, +Maida,” Rosie said. “Because I can tell +you just how to get or make those things +Laura spoke of.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, can you, Rosie. What would I do +without you? I’ll put everything down in +a book so that I shan’t forget them.”</p> + +<p>She limped over to the desk. There the +black head bent over the golden one.</p> + +<p>“What is dulse?” Maida demanded first.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you know what dulse is?” Rosie +asked incredulously. “Maida, you are the +queerest child. The commonest things you +don’t know anything about. And yet I suppose +if I asked you if you’d seen a flying-machine, +you’d say you had.”</p> + +<p>“I have,” Maida answered instantly, “in +Paris.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> + +<p>Rosie’s face wrinkled into its most perplexed +look. She changed the subject at +once. “Well, dulse is a purple stuff—when +you see a lot of it together, it looks as if a +million toy-balloons had burst. It’s all +wrinkled up and tastes salty.”</p> + +<p>Maida thought hard for a moment. Then +she burst into laughter, although the big +round tear-drops were still hanging from +the tips of her lashes. “There was a whole +drawerful here when I first came. I remember +now I thought it was waste stuff +and threw it all away.”</p> + +<p>Rosie laughed too. “The tamarinds you +can get from the man who comes round +with the wagon. Mrs. Murdock used to +make her own apples-on-the-stick, mollolligobs +and corn-balls. I’ve helped her many +a time. Now I’ll write you a list of stuff +to order from the grocer. I’ll come round +after school and we’ll make a batch of all +those things. To-night you get Billy to +print a sign, ‘<span style="font-style: italic">apples on the stick and +mollolligobs to-day</span>.’ You put that in the +window to-morrow morning and by to-morrow +night, you’ll be all sold out.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Rosie,” Maida said happily, “I shall +be so much obliged to you!” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> + +<p>Rosie was as good as her word. She appeared +that afternoon wearing a long-sleeved +apron under the scarlet cape. It +seemed to Maida that she worked like lightning, +for she made batch after batch of +candy, moving as capably about the stove +as an experienced cook. In the meantime, +Maida was popping corn at the fireplace. +They mounted fifty apples on skewers and +dipped them, one at a time, into the boiling +candy. They made thirty corn-balls and +twenty-five mollolligobs, which turned out to +be round chunks of candy, stuck on the end +of sticks.</p> + +<p>“I never did see such clever children anywhere +as there are in Primrose Court,” +Maida said that night with a sigh to +Granny. “Rosie told me that she could +make six kinds of candy. And Dicky +can cook as well as his mother. They +make me feel so useless. Why, Granny, +I can’t do a single thing that’s any good to +anybody.”</p> + +<p>The next day the shop was crowded. By +night there was not an apple, a corn-ball or +a mollolligob left.</p> + +<p>“I shall have a sale like this once a week +in the future,” Maida said. “Why, +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +Granny, lots and lots of children came here +who’d never been in the shop before.”</p> + +<p>And so what looked like serious trouble +ended very happily.</p> + +<p>Trouble number three was a great deal +more serious and it did not, at first, promise +to end well at all. It had to do with Arthur +Duncan. It had been going on for a week +before Maida mentioned it to anybody. +But it haunted her very dreams.</p> + +<p>Early Monday morning, Arthur came into +the shop. In his usual gruff voice and with +his usual surly manner, he said, “Show me +some of those rubbers in the window.”</p> + +<p>Maida took out a handful of the rubbers—five, +she thought—and put them on the +counter. While Arthur looked them over, +she turned to replace a paper-doll which +she had knocked down.</p> + +<p>“Guess I won’t take one to-day,” Arthur +said, while her back was still turned, and +walked out.</p> + +<p>When Maida put the rubbers back, she +discovered that there were only four. She +made up her mind that she had not counted +right and thought no more of the incident.</p> + +<p>Two days later, Arthur Duncan came in +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +again. Maida had just been selling some +pencils—pretty striped ones with a blue +stone in the end. Three of them were left +lying out on the counter. Arthur asked +her to show him some penholders. Maida +took three from the shelves back of her. +He bought one of these. After he had gone, +she discovered that there were only two +pencils left on the counter.</p> + +<p>“One of them must have rolled off,” +Maida thought. But although she looked +everywhere, she could not find it. The incident +of the rubber occurred to her. She +felt a little troubled but she resolved to put +both circumstances out of her mind.</p> + +<p>A day or two later, Arthur Duncan came +in for the third time. It happened that +Granny was out marketing.</p> + +<p>Piled on the counter was a stack of blank-books—pretty +books they were, with a +child’s head in color on the cover. Arthur +asked for letter-paper. Maida turned back +to the shelf. With her hand on the sliding +door, she stopped, half-stunned.</p> + +<p><span style="font-style: italic">Reflected in the glass she saw Arthur Duncan +stow one of the blank books away in his +pocket.</span></p> + +<p>Maida felt sick all over. She did not +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +know what to do. She did not know what +to say.</p> + +<p>She fumbled with trembling hands among +the things on the shelf. She dreaded to +turn for fear her face would express what +she had seen.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps he’ll pay for it,” she thought; +“I hope he will.”</p> + +<p>But Arthur made no offer to pay. He +looked over the letter-paper that Maida, +with downcast eyes, put before him, decided +that he did not want any after all, and +walked coolly from the shop.</p> + +<p>Granny, coming in a few moments later, +was surprised to find Maida leaning on the +counter, her face buried in her hands.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter with my lamb?” the +old lady asked cheerfully.</p> + +<p>“Nothing, Granny,” Maida said. But +she did not meet Granny’s eye and during +dinner she was quiet and serious.</p> + +<p>That night Billy Potter called. “Well, +how goes the <span style="font-style: italic">Bon Marché of</span> Charlestown?” +he asked cheerfully.</p> + +<p>“Billy,” Maida said gravely, “if you +found that a little boy—I can’t say what his +name is—was stealing from you, what would +you do?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> + +<p>Billy considered the question as gravely +as she had asked it. “Tell the policeman +on the beat and get him to throw a scare +into him,” he said at last.</p> + +<p>“I guess that’s what I’ll have to do.” +But Maida’s tone was mournful.</p> + +<p>But Granny interrupted.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you do ut, my lamb—don’t you +do ut!” She turned to them both—they +had never seen her blue eyes so fiery before. +“Suppose you was one av these poor little +chilthren that lives round here that’s always +had harrd wurruds for their meals +and hunger for their pillow, wudn’t you be +afther staling yersilf if ut came aisy-loike +and nobody was luking?”</p> + +<p>Neither Billy nor Maida spoke for a moment.</p> + +<p>“I guess Granny’s right,” Billy said +finally.</p> + +<p>“I guess she is,” Maida said with a sigh.</p> + +<p>It was three days before Arthur Duncan +came into the shop again. But in the +meantime, Maida went one afternoon to +play with Dicky. Dicky was drawing at a +table when Maida came in. She glanced at +his work. He was using a striped pencil +with a blue stone in its end, a blank-book +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +with the picture of a little girl on the cover, +a rubber of a kind very familiar to her. +Maida knew certainly that Dicky had +bought none of these things from her. She +knew as certainly that they were the things +Arthur Duncan had stolen. What was the +explanation of the mystery? She went to +bed that night miserably unhappy.</p> + +<p>Her heart beat pit-a-pat the next time +she saw Arthur open the door. She folded +her hands close together so that he should +not see that she was trembling. She began +to wish that she had followed Billy’s advice. +Sitting in the shop all alone—Granny, +it happened again, was out—it occurred +to her that it was, perhaps, too +serious a situation for a little girl to deal +with.</p> + +<p>She had made up her mind that when +Arthur was in the shop, she would not turn +her back to him. She was determined not +to give him the chance to fall into temptation. +But he asked for pencil-sharpeners +and pencil-sharpeners were kept in the lower +drawer. There was nothing for her to +do but to get down on the floor. She remembered +with a sense of relief that she +had left no stock out on the counter. She +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +knelt upright on the floor, seeking for the +box. Suddenly, reflected in the glass door, +she saw another terrifying picture.</p> + +<p><span style="font-style: italic">Arthur Duncan’s arm was just closing +the money drawer.</span></p> + +<p>For an instant Maida felt so sick at heart +that she wanted to run back into the living-room, +throw herself into Granny’s big chair +and cry her eyes out. Then suddenly all +this weakness went. A feeling, such as she +had never known, came into its place. She +was still angry but she was singularly cool. +She felt no more afraid of Arthur Duncan +than of the bowl of dahlias, blooming on +the counter.</p> + +<p>She whirled around in a flash and looked +him straight in the eye.</p> + +<p>“If there is anything in this shop that +you want so much that you are willing to +steal, tell me what it is and I’ll give it to +you,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Aw, what are you talking about?” Arthur +demanded. He attempted to out-stare +her.</p> + +<p>But Maida kept her eyes steadily on his. +“You know what I’m talking about well +enough,” she said quietly. “In the last +week you’ve stolen a rubber and a pencil and +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +a blank-book from me and just now you +tried to take some money from the money-drawer.”</p> + +<p>Arthur sneered. “How are you going to +prove it?” he asked impudently.</p> + +<p>Maida was thoroughly angry. But something +inside warned her that she must not +give way to temper. For all her life, she had +been accustomed to think before she spoke. +Indeed, she herself had never been driven or +scolded. Her father had always reasoned +with her. Doctors and nurses had always +reasoned with her. Even Granny had always +reasoned with her. So, now, she +thought very carefully before she spoke +again. But she kept her eyes fixed on Arthur. +His eyes did not move from hers but, +in some curious way, she knew that he was +uneasy.</p> + +<p>“I can’t prove it,” she said at last, “and +I hadn’t any idea of trying to. I’m only +warning you that you must not come in here +if you’re not to be trusted. And I told you +the truth when I said I would rather give +you anything in the shop than have you steal +it. For I think you must need those things +very badly to be willing to get them that +way. I don’t believe anybody <span style="font-style: italic">wants</span> to +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +steal. Now when you want anything so bad +as that, come to me and I’ll see if I can get +it for you.”</p> + +<p>Arthur stared at her as if he had not a +word on his tongue. “If you think you can +frighten me,—” he said. Then, without +ending his sentence, he swaggered out of the +shop. But to Maida his swagger seemed +like something put on to conceal another +feeling.</p> + +<p>Maida suddenly felt very tired. She +wished that Granny Flynn would come back. +She wanted Granny to take her into her +lap, to cuddle her, to tell her some merry +little tale of the Irish fairies. But, instead, +the bell rang and another customer came in. +While she was waiting on her, Maida noticed +somebody come stealthily up to the +window, look in and then duck down. She +wondered if it might be Billy playing one +of his games on her.</p> + +<p>The customer went out. In a few moments +the bell tinkled again. Maida had +been leaning against the counter, her tired +head on her outstretched arms. She looked +up. It was Arthur Duncan.</p> + +<p>He strode straight over to her.</p> + +<p>“Here’s three cents for your rubber,” he +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +said, “and five for your pencil, five for the +blank book and there’s two dimes I took out +of the money-drawer.”</p> + +<p>Maida did not know what to say. The +tears came to her eyes and rolled down her +cheeks. Arthur shifted his weight from one +foot to the other in intense embarrassment.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know it would make you feel +as bad as that,” he said.</p> + +<p>“I don’t feel bad,” Maida sobbed—and to +prove it she smiled while the tears ran down +her cheeks—“I feel glad.”</p> + +<p>What he would have answered to this she +never knew. For at that moment the door +flew open. The little rowdy boys who had +been troubling her so much lately, let out a +series of blood-curdling yells.</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” Arthur asked.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know who they are,” Maida said +wearily, “but they do that three or four +times every night. I don’t know what to +do about it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I do,” Arthur said. “You wait!”</p> + +<p>He went over to the door and waited, flattening +himself against the wall. After a +long silence, they could hear footsteps tip-toeing +on the bricks outside. The door flew +open. Arthur Duncan leaped like a cat +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +through the opening. There came back to +Maida the sound of running, then a pause, +then another sound very much as if two or +three naughty little heads were being vigorously +knocked together. She heard Arthur +say:</p> + +<p>“Let me catch one of you doing that again +and I’ll lick you till you can’t stand up. +And remember I’ll be watching for you +every night now.”</p> + +<p>Maida did not see him again then. But +just before dinner the bell rang. When +Maida opened the door there stood Arthur.</p> + +<p>“I had this kitten and I thought you +might like him,” he said awkwardly, holding +out a little bundle of gray fluff.</p> + +<p>“Want it!” Maida said. She seized it +eagerly. “Oh, thank you, Arthur, ever so +much. Oh, Granny, look at this darling +kit-kat. What a ball of fluff he is! I’ll +call him Fluff. And he isn’t an Angora or +a prize kitty of any kind—just a beautiful +plain everyday cat—the kind I’ve always +wanted!”</p> + +<p>Even this was not all. After dinner the +shop bell rang again. This time it was Arthur +and Rosie. Rosie’s lips were very +tight as if she had made up her mind to +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +some bold deed but her flashing eyes showed +her excitement.</p> + +<p>“Can we see you alone for a moment, +Maida?” she asked in her most business-like +tones.</p> + +<p>Wondering, Maida shut the door to the +living-room and came back to them.</p> + +<p>“Maida,” Rosie began, “Arthur told me +all about the rubber and the pencil and the +blank book and the dimes. Of course, I felt +pretty bad when I heard about it. But I +wanted Arthur to come right over here and +explain the whole thing to you. You see +Arthur took those things to give away to +Dicky because Dicky has such a hard time +getting anything he wants.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I saw them over at Dicky’s,” Maida +said.</p> + +<p>“And then, there was a great deal more to +it that Arthur’s just told me and I thought +you ought to know it at once. You see Arthur’s +father belongs to a club that meets +once a month and Arthur goes there a lot +with him. And those men think that plenty +of people have things that they have no +right to—oh, like automobiles—I mean, +things that they haven’t earned. And the +men in Mr. Duncan’s club say that it’s perfectly +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +right to take things away from people +who have too much and give them to people +who have too little. But I say that may be +all right for grown people but when children +do it, it’s just plain <span style="font-style: italic">stealing</span>. And that’s +all there is to it! But I wanted you to know +that Arthur thought it was right—well sort +of right, you understand—when he took +those things. You don’t think so now, do +you, after the talking-to I’ve given you?” +She turned severely on Arthur.</p> + +<p>Arthur shuffled and looked embarrassed. +“No,” he said sheepishly, “not until you’re +grown up.”</p> + +<p>“But what I wanted to say next, Maida,” +Rosie continued, “is, please not to tell +Dicky. He would be so surprised—and +then he wouldn’t keep the things that Arthur +gave him. And of course now that +Arthur has paid for them—they’re all right +for him to have.”</p> + +<p>“Of course I wouldn’t tell anybody,” +Maida said in a shocked voice, “not even +Granny or Billy—not even my father.”</p> + +<p>“Then that’s settled,” Rosie said with a +sigh. “Good night.”</p> + +<p>The next day the following note reached Maida: +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> + +<p style="margin-bottom: 3.00em; margin-left: 4.00em; margin-top: 2.00em; margin-right: 4.00em"> +You are cordully invited to join the W.M.N.T. Club which meets three times a +week at the house of Miss Rosie Brine, or Mr. Richard Dore or Mr. Arthur Duncan. +<br /><br /> +P.S. The name means, WE MUST +NEVER TELL.</p> + +<p>Maida dreamed nothing but happy +dreams that night.</p> + +<hr /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<h3>A RAINY DAY</h3> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>The next day it rained dismally. Maida +had been running the shop for three +weeks but this was her first experience with +stormy weather. Because she, herself, had +never been allowed to set her foot outdoors +when the weather was damp, she expected +that she would see no children that day. +But long before the bell rang they crowded +in wet streaming groups into the shop. And +at nine the lines disappearing into the big +school doorways seemed as long as ever.</p> + +<p>Even the Clark twins in rubber boots, +long rain-capes and a baby umbrella came +in to spend their daily pennies.</p> + +<p>“I guess it’ll be one session, Maida,” +Dorothy whispered.</p> + +<p>“Oh goody, Dorothy!” Mabel lisped. +“Don’t you love one session, Maida?”</p> + +<p>Maida was ashamed to confess to two such +tiny girls that she did not know what “one +session” meant. But she puzzled over it +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +the whole morning. If Rosie and Arthur +had come in she would have asked them. +But neither of them appeared. Indeed, +they were not anywhere in the lines—Maida +looked very carefully.</p> + +<p>At twelve o’clock the school bell did not +ring. In surprise, Maida craned out of the +window to consult the big church clock. It +agreed exactly with the tall grandfather’s +clock in the living-room. Both pointed to +twelve, then to five minutes after and ten +and fifteen—still no bell.</p> + +<p>A little later Dicky came swinging along, +the sides of his old rusty raincoat flapping +like the wings of some great bird.</p> + +<p>“It’s one-session, Maida,” he said jubilantly, +“did you hear the bell?”</p> + +<p>“What’s one session, Dicky?” Maida +asked.</p> + +<p>“Why, when it’s too stormy for the children +to go to school in the afternoon the fire-bells +ring twenty-two at quarter to twelve. +They keep all the classes in until one +o’clock though.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s why they don’t come out,” +Maida said.</p> + +<p>At one o’clock the umbrellas began to file +out of the school door. The street looked +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +as if it had grown a monster crop of shiny +black toad-stools. But it was the only sign +of life that the neighborhood showed for the +rest of the day. The storm was too violent +for even the big boys and girls to brave. A +very long afternoon went by. Not a customer +came into the shop. Maida felt very +lonely. She wandered from shop to living-room +and from living-room to chamber. +She tried to read. She sewed a little. She +even popped corn for a lonesome fifteen +minutes. But it seemed as if the long dark +day would never go.</p> + +<p>As they were sitting down to dinner that +night, Billy bounced in—his face pink and +wet, his eyes sparkling like diamonds from +his conflict with the winds.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Billy, how glad I am to see you,” +Maida said. “It’s been the lonesomest +day.”</p> + +<p>“Sure, the sight av ye’s grand for sore +eyes,” said Granny.</p> + +<p>Maida had noticed that Billy’s appearance +always made the greatest difference in +everything. Before he came, the noise of +the wind howling about the store made +Maida sad. Now it seemed the jolliest of +sounds. And when at seven, Rosie appeared, +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +Maida’s cup of happiness brimmed +over.</p> + +<p>While Billy talked with Granny, the two +little girls rearranged the stock.</p> + +<p>“My mother was awful mad with me just +before supper,” Rosie began at once. “It +seems as if she was so cross lately that +there’s no living with her. She picks on +me all the time. That’s why I’m here. She +sent me to bed. But I made up my mind +I wouldn’t go to bed. I climbed out my bedroom +window and came over here.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Rosie, I wish you wouldn’t do that,” +Maida said. “Oh, do run right home! +Think how worried your mother would be +if she went up into your room and found you +gone. She wouldn’t know what had become +of you.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, what makes her so strict with +me?” Rosie cried. Her eyes had grown as +black as thunder clouds. The scowl that +made her face so sullen had come deep between +her eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“Oh, how I wish I had a mother,” Maida +said longingly. “I guess I wouldn’t say a +word to her, no matter how strict she was.”</p> + +<p>“I guess you don’t know what you’d do +until you tried it,” Rosie said. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> + +<p>Granny and Billy had been curiously +quiet in the other room. Suddenly Billy +Potter stepped to the door.</p> + +<p>“I’ve just thought of a great game, children,” +he said. “But we’ve got to play it +in the kitchen. Bring some crayons, +Maida.”</p> + +<p>The children raced after him. “What is +it?” they asked in chorus.</p> + +<p>Billy did not answer. He lifted Granny’s +easy-chair with Granny, knitting and +all, and placed it in front of the kitchen +stove. Then he began to draw a huge rectangle +on the clean, stone floor.</p> + +<p>“Guess,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Sure and Oi know what ut’s going to +be,” smiled Granny.</p> + +<p>Maida and Rosie watched him closely. +Suddenly they both shouted together:</p> + +<p>“Hopscotch! Hopscotch!”</p> + +<p>“Right you are!” Billy approved. He +searched among the coals in the hod until +he found a hard piece of slate.</p> + +<p>“All ready now!” he said briskly. +“Your turn, first, Rosie, because you’re +company.”</p> + +<p>Rosie failed on “fivesy.” Maida’s turn +came next and she failed on “threesy.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +Billy followed Maida but he hopped on the +line on “twosy.”</p> + +<p>“Oi belave Oi cud play that game, ould as +Oi am,” Granny said suddenly.</p> + +<p>“I bet you could,” Billy said.</p> + +<p>“Sure, ’twas a foine player Oi was when +Oi was a little colleen.”</p> + +<p>“Come on, Granny,” Billy said.</p> + +<p>The two little girls jumped up and down, +clapping their hands and shrieking, “Granny’s +going to play!” “Granny’s going to +play!” They made so much noise finally, +that Billy had to threaten to stand them on +their heads in a corner.</p> + +<p>Granny took her turn after Billy. She +hopped about like a very active and a very +benevolent old fairy.</p> + +<p>“Oh, doesn’t she look like the Dame in +fairy tales?” Maida said.</p> + +<p>They played for a half an hour. And +who do you suppose won? Not Maida with +all her new-found strength, not Rosie with +all her nervous energy, not Billy with all his +athletic training.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Delia Flynn, champion of America +and Ireland,” Billy greeted the victor. +“Granny, we’ll have to enter you in the next +Olympic games.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> + +<p>They returned after this breathless work +to the living-room.</p> + +<p>“Now I’m going to tell you a story,” +Billy announced.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Maida squealed. “Do! +Billy tells the most wonderful stories, Rosie—stories +he’s heard and stories he’s read. +But the most wonderful ones are those that +he makes up as he goes along.”</p> + +<p>The two little girls settled themselves on +the hearth-rug at Billy’s feet. Granny sat, +not far off, working with double speed at her +neglected knitting.</p> + +<p>“Once upon a time,” Billy said, +“there +lived a little girl named Klara. And Klara +was the naughtiest little girl in the world. +She was a pretty child and a clever child +and everybody would have loved her if she +had only given them a chance. But how +can you love a child who is doing naughty +things all the time? Particularly was she +a great trial to her mother. That poor lady +was not well and needed care and attention, +herself. But instead of giving her these, +Klara gave her only hard words and disobedient +acts. The mother used sometimes +to punish her little daughter but it seemed +as if this only made her worse. Both father +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +and mother were in despair about her. +Klara seemed to be growing steadily worse +and worse. And, indeed, lately, she had +added to her naughtiness by threatening to +run away.</p> + +<p>“One night, it happened, +Klara had been +so bad that her mother had put her to bed +early. The moment her mother left the +room, Klara whipped over to the window. +‘I’m going to dress myself and climb out the +window and run away and never come back,’ +she said to herself.’</p> + +<p>“The house in which Klara lived was +built on the side of a cliff, overlooking the +sea. As Klara stood there in her nightgown +the moon began to rise and come up out of +the water. Now the moonrise is always a +beautiful sight and Klara stopped for a moment +to watch it, fascinated.</p> + +<p>“It seemed to her that she had never seen +the moon look so big before. And certainly +she had never seen it such a color—a soft +deep orange. In fact, it might have been +an immense orange—or better, a monster +pumpkin stuck on the horizon-line.</p> + +<p>“The strange thing about the moon, +though, was that it grew larger instead of +smaller. It rose higher and higher, growing +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +bigger and bigger, until it was half-way +up the curve of the sky. Then it stopped +short. Klara watched it, her eyes bulging +out of her head. In all her experience she +had never seen such a surprising thing. +And while she watched, another remarkable +thing happened. A great door in the moon +opened suddenly and there on the threshold +stood a little old lady. A strange little old +lady she was—a little old lady with short red +skirts and high, gayly-flowered draperies at +her waist, a little old lady with a tall black, +sugar-loaf hat, a great white ruff around her +neck and little red shoes with bright silver +buckles on them—a little old lady who carried +a black cat perched on one shoulder and +a broomstick in one hand.</p> + +<p>“The little old lady stooped down and +lifted something over the threshold. Klara +strained her eyes to see what it was. It +looked like a great roll of golden carpeting. +With a sudden deft movement the little old +lady threw it out of the door. It flew +straight across the ocean, unrolling as +swiftly as a ball of twine that you’ve flung +across the room. It came nearer and nearer. +The farther it got from the moon, the +faster it unrolled. After a while it struck +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +against the shore right under Klara’s window +and Klara saw that it was the wake of +the moon. She watched.</p> + +<p>“The little old lady had disappeared from +the doorway in the moon but the door did +not close. And, suddenly, still another wonderful +thing happened. The golden wake +lifted itself gradually from the water until +it was on a level with Klara’s window. +Bending down she touched it with both her +soft little hands. It was as firm and hard +as if it had been woven from strands of +gold.</p> + +<p>“‘Now’s my time to run away from my +cross mother,’ Klara said to herself. ‘I +guess that nice old lady in the moon wants +me to come and be her little girl. Well, I’ll +go. I guess they’ll be sorry in this house +to-morrow when they wake up and find +they’re never going to see me again.’</p> + +<p>“Opening the window gently that nobody +might hear her, she stepped on to the Wake +of Gold. It felt cool and hard to her little +bare feet. It inclined gently from her window. +She ran down the slope until she +reached the edge of the sea. There she hesitated. +For a moment it seemed a daring +thing to walk straight out to the moon with +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +nothing between her and the water but a +path of gold. Then she recalled how her +mother had sent her to bed and her heart +hardened. She started briskly out.</p> + +<p>“From Klara’s window it had looked +as though it would take her only a few moments +to get to the moon. But the farther +she went, the farther from her the doorway +seemed to go. But she did not mind that +the walk was so long because it was so +pretty. Looking over the edge of the Wake +of Gold, deep down in the water, she could +see all kinds of strange sights.</p> + +<p>“At one place a school of little fish swam +up to the surface of the water. Klara knelt +down and watched their pretty, graceful +motions. The longer she gazed the more +fish she saw and the more beautiful they +seemed. Pale-blue fishes with silver spots. +Pale-pink ones with golden stripes. Gorgeous +red ones with jewelled black horns. +Brilliant yellow and green ones that shone +like phosphorus. And here and there, gliding +among them, were what seemed little +angel-fish like living rainbows, whose filmy +wing-like fins changed color when they +swam.</p> + +<p>“Klara reached into the water and tried +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +to catch some of these marvelous beings.</p> + +<p>“But at her first motion—bing! The water +looked as if it were streaked with rainbow +lightning. Swish! It was dull and +clear again, with nothing between her and +the quiet, seaweed-covered bottom.</p> + +<p>“A little farther along Klara came across +a wonderful sea-grotto. Again she knelt +down on the Wake of Gold and watched. +At the bottom the sand was so white and +shiny that it might have been made of star-dust. +Growing up from it were beds of +marvelous seaflowers, opening and shutting +delicate petals, beautiful seafans that waved +with every ripple, high, thick shrubs and +towering trees in which the fishes had built +their nests. In and out among all this undergrowth, +frisked tiny sea-horses, ridden +by mischievous sea-urchins. They leaped +and trotted and galloped as if they were so +happy that they did not know what to do. +Klara felt that she must play with them. +She put one little foot into the water to attract +their attention. Bing! The water +seemed alive with scuttling things. Swish! +The grotto was so quiet that she could not +believe that there was anything living in it.</p> + +<p>“A little farther on, Klara came upon a +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +sight even more wonderful than this—a village +of mer-people. It was set so far down +in the water that it seemed a million miles +away. And yet the water was so clear that +she felt she could touch the housetops.</p> + +<p>“The mer-houses seemed to be made of a +beautiful, sparkling white coral with big, +wide-open windows through which the tide +drifted. The mer-streets seemed to be cobbled +in pearl, the sidewalks to be paved in +gold. At their sides grew mer-trees, the +highest she had ever seen, with all kinds of +beautiful singing fish roosting in their +branches. Little mer-boats of carved pink +coral with purple seaweed sails or of mother-of-pearl +with rosy, mer-flower-petal sails, +were floating through the streets. In some, +sat little mer-maidens, the sunlight flashing +on their pretty green scales, on their long, +golden tresses, on the bright mirrors they +held in their hands. Other boats held little +mer-boys who made beautiful music on the +harps they carried.</p> + +<p>“At one end of the mer-village Klara +could see one palace, bigger and more beautiful +than all the others. Through an open +window she caught a glimpse of the mer-king—a +jolly old fellow with a fat red face +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +and a long white beard sitting on a throne +of gold. At his side reclined the mer-queen—a +very beautiful lady with a skin as white +as milk and eyes as green as emeralds. Little +mer-princes and little mer-princesses +were playing on the floor with tiny mer-kittens +and tinier mer-puppies. One sweet +little mer-baby was tiptailing towards the +window with a pearl that she had stolen +from her sister’s coronet.</p> + +<p>“It seemed to Klara that this mer-village +was the most enchanting place that she had +ever seen in her life. Oh, how she wanted +to live there!</p> + +<p>“‘Oh, good mer-king,’ she called entreatingly, +‘and good mer-queen, please let me +come to live in your palace.’</p> + +<p>“Bing! The water rustled and roiled as +if all the birds of paradise that the world +contained had taken flight. Swish! It +was perfectly quiet again. The mer-village +was as deserted as a graveyard.</p> + +<p>“‘Well, if they don’t want me, they +shan’t get me,” Klara said. And she walked +on twice as proud.’</p> + +<p>“By this time she was getting closer and +closer to the moon. The nearer she came +the bigger it grew. Now it filled the entire +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +sky. The door had remained open all this +time. Through it she could see a garden—a +garden more beautiful than any fairy-tale +garden that she had ever read about. From +the doorway silvery paths stretched between +hedges as high as a giant’s head. Sometimes +these paths ended in fountains whose +spray twisted into all kinds of fairy-like +shapes. Sometimes these paths seemed to +stop flush against the clouds. Nearer +stretched flower-beds so brilliant that you +would have thought a kaleidoscope had +broken on the ground. Birds, like living +jewels, flew in and out through the tree-branches. +They sang so hard that it seemed +to Klara they must burst their little throats. +From the branches hung all kinds of precious +stones, all kinds of delicious-looking +fruits and candies.</p> + +<p>“Klara could not scramble through the +door quickly enough.</p> + +<p>“But as she put one foot on the threshold +the little old lady appeared. She looked as +if she had stepped out of a fairy-tale. And +yet Klara had a strange feeling of discomfort +when she looked at her. It seemed to +Klara that the old lady’s mouth was cruel +and her eyes hard. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> + +<p>“‘Are you the little girl who’s run away?’ +the old lady asked.</p> + +<p>“‘Yes,’ Klara faltered.</p> + +<p>“‘And you want to live in the Kingdom +of the Moon?’</p> + +<p>“‘Yes.’</p> + +<p>“‘Enter then.’</p> + +<p>“The old lady stepped aside and Klara +marched across the threshold. She felt the +door swinging to behind her. She heard a +bang as it closed, shutting her out of the +world and into the moon.</p> + +<p>“And then—and then—what do you think +happened?”</p> + +<p>Billy stopped for a moment. Rosie and +Maida rose to their knees.</p> + +<p>“What happened?” they asked breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“The garden vanished as utterly as if it +were a broken soap-bubble. Gone were the +trees and the flowers; gone were the fountains +and the birds; gone, too, were the jewels, +the candies and the fruits.</p> + +<p>“The place had become a huge, dreary +waste, stretching as far as Klara could see +into the distance. It seemed to her as if all +the trash that the world had outgrown had +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +been dumped here—it was so covered with +heaps of old rubbish.</p> + +<p>“Klara turned to the old lady. She had +not changed except that her cruel mouth +sneered.</p> + +<p>“Klara burst into tears. ‘I want to go +home,’ she screamed. ‘Let me go back to my mother.’”</p> + +<p>“The old lady only smiled. ‘You open +that door and let me go back to my mother,’ +Klara cried passionately.</p> + +<p>“‘But I can’t open it,’ the old lady said. +‘It’s locked. I have no keys.’</p> + +<p>“‘Where are the keys?’ Klara asked.</p> + +<p>“The old lady pointed to the endless heaps +of rubbish. ‘There, somewhere,’ she said.</p> + +<p>“‘I’ll find them,’ Klara screamed, ‘and +open that door and run back to my home. +You shan’t keep me from my own dear +mother, you wicked woman.’</p> + +<p>“‘Nobody wants to keep you,’ the old +lady said. ‘You came of your own accord. +Find the keys if you want to go back.’</p> + +<p>“That was true and Klara wisely did not +answer. But you can fancy how she regretted +coming. She began to search among the +dump-heaps. She could find no keys. But +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +the longer she hunted the more determined +she grew. It seemed to her that she +searched for weeks and weeks.</p> + +<p>“It was very discouraging, very dirty and +very fatiguing work. She moved always in +a cloud of dust. At times it seemed as if +her back would break from bending so +much. Often she had to bite her lips to +keep from screaming with rage after she +had gone through a rubbish-pile as high as +her head and, still, no keys. All kinds of +venomous insects stung her. All kinds of +vines and brambles scratched her. All +kinds of stickers and thistles pricked her. +Her little feet and hands bled all the time. +But still she kept at it. After that first +conversation, Klara never spoke with the +old lady again. After a few days Klara left +her in the distance. At the end of a week, +the moon-door was no longer in sight when +Klara looked back.</p> + +<p>“But during all those weeks of weary +work Klara had a chance to think. She +saw for the first time what a naughty little +girl she had been and how she had worried +the kindest mother in the world. Her longing +for her mother grew so great at times +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +that she had to sit down and cry. But after +a while she would dry her eyes and go at the +hunt with fresh determination.</p> + +<p>“One day she caught a glint of something +shining from a clump of bushes. She had +to dig and dig to get at it for about these +bushes the ashes were packed down hard. +But finally she uncovered a pair of iron +keys. On one was printed in letters of +gold, ‘I’m SORRY,’ on the other, ‘I’LL +NEVER DO SO AGAIN.’</p> + +<p>“Klara seized the keys joyfully and ran +all the long way back to the great door. It +had two locks. She put one key in the upper +lock, turned it—a great bolt jarred. +She put the other key into the second lock, +turned it—a great bolt jarred. The door +swung open.</p> + +<p>“‘I’m sorry,’ Klara whispered to herself. +‘I’ll never do so again.’</p> + +<p>“She had a feeling that as long as she +said those magic words, everything would +go well with her.</p> + +<p>“Extending out from the door was the +Wake of Gold. Klara bounded through +the opening and ran. She turned back after +a few moments and there was the old lady +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +with her cat and her broomstick standing +in the doorway. But the old lady’s face had +grown very gentle and kind.</p> + +<p>“Klara did not look long. She ran as +fast as she could pelt across the golden path, +whispering, ‘I’m sorry. I will never do so +again. I’m sorry. I will never do so again. +I’m sorry. I will never do so again.’</p> + +<p>“And as she ran all the little mer-people +came to the surface of the water to encourage +her. The little mer-maidens flashed +their mirrors at her. The little mer-boys +played wonderful music on their harps. +The mer-king gave her a jolly smile and the +mer-queen blew her a kiss. All the little +mer-princesses and all the little mer-princes +held up their pets to her. Even the mer-baby +clapped her dimpled hands.</p> + +<p>“And farther on all the little sea horses +with the sea urchins on their backs assembled +in bobbing groups. And farther on all +the little rainbow fishes gathered in shining +files. As she ran all the scratches and +gashes in her flesh healed up.</p> + +<p>“After a while she reached her own window. +Opening it, she jumped in. Turning +to pull it down she saw the old lady disappear +from the doorway of the moon, saw +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +the door close upon her, saw the Wake of +Gold melt and fall into the sea where it lay +in a million gleaming spangles, saw the +moon float up into the sky, growing smaller +and smaller and paler and paler until it +was no larger than a silver plate. And now +it was the moon no longer—it was the sun. +Its rays were shining hot on her face. She +was back in her little bed. Her mother’s +arms were about her and Klara was saying, +‘I’m SORRY. I WILL NEVER DO SO +AGAIN.’”</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>For a long time after Billy finished the +room was very quiet. Then suddenly Rosie +jumped to her feet. “That was a lovely +story, Billy,” she said. “But I guess I +don’t want to hear any more now. I think +I’ll go home.”</p> + +<hr /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page182">[Pg 182]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<h3>WORK</h3> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>It was still raining when Maida got up +the next day. It rained all the morning. +She listened carefully at a quarter to +twelve for the one-session bell but it did not +ring. Just before school began in the afternoon +Rosie came into the shop. Maida saw +at once that something had happened to her. +Rosie’s face looked strange and she dragged +across the room instead of pattering with +her usual quick, light step.</p> + +<p>“What do you think’s happened, +Maida?” Rosie asked.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. Oh, what?” Maida asked +affrighted.</p> + +<p>“When I came home from school this +noon mother wasn’t there. But Aunt +Theresa was there—she’d cooked the dinner. +She said that mother had gone away for a +visit and that she wouldn’t be back for some +time. She said she was going to keep house +for father and me while mother was gone. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +I feel dreadfully homesick and lonesome +without mother.”</p> + +<p>“Oh Rosie, I am sorry,” Maida said. +“But perhaps your mother won’t stay long. +Do you like your Aunt Theresa?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, I like her. But of course she +isn’t mother.”</p> + +<p>“No, of course. Nobody is like your +mother.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; there’s something else I had to +tell you. The W.M.N.T.’s are going to +meet at Dicky’s after school this afternoon. +Be sure to come, Maida.”</p> + +<p>“Of course I’ll come.” Maida’s whole +face sparkled. “That is, if Granny doesn’t +think it’s too wet.”</p> + +<p>Rosie lingered for a few moments but she +did not seem like her usual happy-go-lucky +self. And when she left, Maida noticed that +instead of running across the street she actually +walked.</p> + +<p>All the morning long Maida talked of +nothing to Granny but the prospective meeting +of the W.M.N.T.’s. “Just think, +Granny, I never belonged to a club before,” +she said again and again.</p> + +<p>Very early she had put out on her bed the +clothes that she intended to wear—a tanbrown +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +serge of which she was particularly +fond, and her favorite “tire” of a delicate, +soft lawn. She kept rushing to the window +to study the sky. It continued to look like +the inside of a dull tin cup. She would not +have eaten any lunch at all if Granny had +not told her that she must. And her heart +sank steadily all the afternoon for the rain +continued to come down.</p> + +<p>“I don’t suppose I can go, Granny,” she +faltered when the clock struck four.</p> + +<p>“Sure an you + <span style="font-style: italic">can</span>,” Granny responded +briskly.</p> + +<p>But she wrapped Maida up, as Maida herself +said: “As if I was one of papa’s +carved crystals come all the way from +China.”</p> + +<p>First Granny put on a sweater, then a +coat, then over all a raincoat. She put a +hood on her head and a veil over that. She +made her wear rubber boots and take an +umbrella. Maida got into a gale of laughter +during the dressing.</p> + +<p>“I ought to be wrapped in excelsior now,” +she said. “If I fall down in the puddle in +the court, Granny,” she threatened merrily, +“I never can pick myself up. I’ll either +have to roll and roll and roll until I get on +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +to dry land or I’ll have to wait until somebody +comes and shovels me out.”</p> + +<p>But she did not fall into the puddle. She +walked carefully along the edge and then +ran as swiftly as her clothes and lameness +would permit. She arrived in Dicky’s garret, +red-cheeked and breathless.</p> + +<p>Arthur and Rosie had already come. +Rosie was playing on the floor with Delia +and the puppy that she had rescued from +the tin-can persecution. Rosie was growling, +the dog was yelping and Delia was +squealing—but all three with delight.</p> + +<p>Arthur and Dicky sat opposite each other, +working at the round table.</p> + +<p>“What do you think of that dog now, +Maida?” Rosie asked proudly. “His name +is <span style="font-style: normal">‘Tag.’</span> You wouldn’t know him for the +same dog, would you? Isn’t he a nice-looking +little puppy?”</p> + +<p>Tag did look like another dog. He wore +a collar and his yellowy coat shone like +satin. His whole manner had changed. He +came running over to Maida and stood looking +at her with the most spirited air in the +world, his head on one side, one paw up and +one ear cocked inquisitively. His tail wriggled +so fast that Delia thinking it some wonderful +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +new toy, kept trying to catch it and +hold it in her little fingers.</p> + +<p>“He’s a lovely doggie,” Maida said. “I +wish I’d brought Fluff.”</p> + +<p>“And did you ever see such a dear baby,” +Rosie went on, hugging Delia. “Oh, if I +only had a baby brother or sister!”</p> + +<p>“She’s a darling,” Maida agreed heartily. +“Babies are so much more fun than dolls, +don’t you think so, Rosie?”</p> + +<p>“Dolls!” No words can express the contempt +that was in Miss Brine’s accent.</p> + +<p>“What are you doing, Dicky?” Maida +asked, limping over to the table.</p> + +<p>“Making things,” Dicky said cheerfully.</p> + +<p>On the table were piles of mysterious-looking +objects made entirely of paper. +Some were of white paper and others of +brown, but they were all decorated with +trimmings of colored tissue.</p> + +<p>“What are they?” Maida asked. “Aren’t +they lovely? I never saw anything like +them in my life.”</p> + +<p>Dicky blushed all over his face at this +compliment but it was evident that he was +delighted. “Well, those are paper-boxes,” +he said, pointing to the different piles of +things, “and those are steamships. Those +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +are the old-fashioned kind with double +smokestacks. Those are double-boats, +jackets, pants, badges, nose-pinchers, +lamp-lighters, firemen’s caps and soldier +caps.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s why you buy all that colored +paper,” Maida said in a tone of great satisfaction. +“I’ve often wondered.” She examined +Dicky’s work carefully. She could +see that it was done with remarkable precision +and skill. “Oh, what fun to do +things like that. I do wish you’d show me +how to make them, Dicky. I’m such a useless +girl. I can’t make a single thing.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll show you, sure,” Dicky offered generously.</p> + +<p>“What are you making so many for?” +Maida queried.</p> + +<p>“Well, you see it’s this way,” Dicky began +in a business-like air. “Arthur and +Rosie and I are going to have a fair. We’ve +had a fair every spring and every fall for +the last three years. That’s how we get our +money for Christmas and the Fourth of +July. Arthur whittles things out of wood—he’ll +show you what he can do in a minute—he’s +a crackajack. Rosie makes candy. +And I make these paper things.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> + +<p>“And do you make much money?” Maida +asked, deeply interested.</p> + +<p>“Don’t make any money at all,” Dicky +said. “The children pay us in nails. I +charge them ten nails a-piece for the easy +things and twenty nails for the hardest. +Arthur can get more for his stuff because +it’s harder to do.”</p> + +<p>“But what do you want nails for?” +Maida asked in bewilderment.</p> + +<p>“Why, nails are junk.”</p> + +<p>“And what’s junk?”</p> + +<p>The three children stared at her. “Don’t +you know what <span style="font-style: italic">junk</span> is, Maida?” Rosie +asked in despair.</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Junk’s old iron,” Dicky explained. +“And you sell it to the junkman. Once we +made forty cents out of one of these fairs. +One reason we’re beginning so early this +year, I’ve got something very particular I +want to buy my mother for a Christmas +present. Can you keep a secret, Maida?”</p> + +<p>Maida nodded.</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s a fur collar for her neck. +They have them down in a store on Main +street every winter—two dollars and ninetyeight +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +cents. It seems an awful lot but I’ve +got over a dollar saved up. And I guess I +can do it if I work hard.”</p> + +<p>“How much have you made ordinarily?” +Maida asked thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“Once we made forty cents a-piece but +that’s the most.”</p> + +<p>“I tell you what you do,” Maida burst +out impetuously after a moment of silence +in which she considered this statement. +“When the time comes for you to hold your +fair, I’ll lend you my shop for a day. I’ll +take all the things out of the window and +I’ll clean all the shelves off and you boys +can put your things there. I’ll clear out +the showcases for Rosie’s candy. Won’t +that be lovely?” She smiled happily.</p> + +<p>“It would be grand business for us,” +Dicky said soberly, “but somehow it doesn’t +seem quite fair to you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, please don’t think of that,” Maida +said. “I’d just love to do it. And you +must teach me how to make things so that I +can help you. You will take the shop, +Dicky?” she pleaded. “And you, Rosie? +And Arthur?” She looked from one to the +other with all her heart in her eyes. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> + +<p>But nobody spoke for a moment. “It +seems somehow as if we oughtn’t to,” Dicky +said awkwardly at last.</p> + +<p>Maida’s lip trembled. At first she could +not understand. Here she was aching to do +a kindness to these three friends of hers. +And they, for some unknown reason, would +not permit it. It was not that they disliked +her, she knew. What was it? She tried to +put herself in their place. Suddenly it +came to her what the difficulty was. They +did not want to be so much in her debt. +How could she prevent that? She must let +them do something for her that would lessen +that debt. But what? She thought very +hard. In a flash it came to her—a plan by +which she could make it all right.</p> + +<p>“You see,” she began eagerly, “I wanted +to ask you three to help me in something, +but I can’t do it unless you let me help you. +Listen—the next holiday is Halloween. I +want to decorate my shop with a lot of real +jack-o’-lanterns cut from pumpkins. It +will be hard work and a lot of it and I was +hoping that perhaps you’d help me with +this.”</p> + +<p>The three faces lighted up. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Of course we will,” Dicky said heartily.</p> + +<p>“Gee, I bet Dicky and I could make some +great lanterns,” Arthur said reflectively.</p> + +<p>“And I’ll help you fix up the store,” +Rosie said with enthusiasm. “I just love to +make things look pretty.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a bargain then,” Maida said. “And +now you must teach me how to help you +this very afternoon, Dicky.”</p> + +<p>They fell to work with a vim. At least +three of them did. Rosie continued to +frisk with Delia and Tag on the floor. +Dicky started Maida on the caps first. He +said that those were the easiest. And, indeed +she had very little trouble with anything +until she came to the boxes. She had +to do her first box over and over again +before it would come right. But Dicky was +very patient with her. He kept telling her +that she did better than most beginners or +she would have given it up. When she +made her first good box, her face beamed +with satisfaction.</p> + +<p>“Do you mind if I take it home, Dicky?” +she asked. “I’d like to show it to my father +when he comes. It’s the first thing +I ever made in my life.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Of course,” Dicky said.</p> + +<p>“Don’t the other children ever try to copy +your things?” Maida asked.</p> + +<p>“They try to,” Arthur answered, “but +they never do so well as Dicky.”</p> + +<p>“You ought to see their nose-pinchers,” +Rosie laughed. “They can’t stand up +straight. And their boxes and steamships +are the wobbliest things.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to get all kinds of stuff for +things we make for the fair,” Maida said +reflectively. “Gold and silver paper and +colored stars and pretty fancy pictures +for trimmings. You see if you’re going to +charge real money you must make them +more beautiful than those for which you +only charged nails.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right,” Dicky said. “By George, +that will be great! You go ahead and buy +whatever you think is right, Maida, and I’ll +pay you for it from what we take in at the +fair.”</p> + +<p>“That’s settled. What do you whittle, +Arthur?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, all kinds of things—things I made +up myself and things I learned how to do +in sloyd in school. I make bread-boards +and rolling pins and shinny sticks and cats +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +and little baskets out of cherry-stones.”</p> + +<p>“Jiminy crickets, he’s forgetting the +boats,” Dicky burst in enthusiastically. +“He makes the dandiest boats you ever saw +in your life.”</p> + +<p>Maida looked at Arthur in awe. “I +never heard anything like it! Can you +make anything for girls?”</p> + +<p>“Made me a set of the darlingest dolls’ +furniture you ever saw in your life,” Rosie +put in from the floor.</p> + +<p>“Say, did you get into any trouble last +night?” Arthur turned suddenly to Rosie. +“I forgot to ask you.”</p> + +<p>“Arthur and Rosie hooked jack yesterday, +in all that rain,” Dicky explained to +Maida. “They knew a place where they +could get a whole lot of old iron and they +were afraid if they waited, it would be +gone.”</p> + +<p>“I should say I did,” Rosie answered Arthur’s +question. “Somebody went and tattled +to my mother. Of course, I was wet +through to the skin and that gave the whole +thing away, anyway. I got the worst scolding +and mother sent me to bed without my +supper. But I climbed out the window and +went over to see Maida. I don’t mind! I +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +hate school and as long as I live I shall +never go except when I want to—never, +never, never! I guess I’m not going to be +shut up studying when I’d rather be out in +the open air. Wouldn’t you hook jack if +you wanted to, Maida?”</p> + +<p>Maida did not reply for an instant. She +hated to have Rosie ask this question, point-blank +for she did not want to answer it. If +she said exactly what she thought there +might be trouble. And it seemed to her +that she would do almost anything rather +than lose Rosie’s friendship. But Maida +had been taught to believe that the truth is +the most precious thing in the world. And +so she told the truth after a while but it +was with a great effort.</p> + +<p>“No, I wouldn’t,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s all right for <span style="font-style: italic">you</span> to say,” +Rosie said firing up. “You don’t have to +go to school. You live the easiest life that +anybody can—just sitting in a chair and +tending shop all day. What do you know +about it, anyway?”</p> + +<p>Maida’s lips quivered. “It is true I +don’t go to school, Rosie,” she said. “But +it isn’t because I don’t want to. I’d give +anything on earth if I could go. I watch +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page195">[Pg 195]</a></span> +that line of children every morning and +afternoon of my life and wish and <span style="font-style: italic">wish</span> +and WISH I was in it. And when the +windows are opened and I hear the singing +and reading, it seems as if I just +couldn’t stand it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, well,” Rosie’s tone was still scornful. +“I don’t believe, even if you did go +to school, that you’d ever do anything bad. +You’d never be anything but a fraid-cat and +teacher’s pet.”</p> + +<p>“I guess I’d be so glad to be there, I’d +do anything the teacher asked,” Maida said +dejectedly. “I do a lot of things that bother +Granny but I guess I never have been a +very naughty girl. You can’t be very +naughty with your leg all crooked under +you.” Maida’s voice had grown bitter. +The children looked at her in amazement. +“But what’s the use of talking to you two,” +she went on. “You could never understand. +I guess Dicky knows what I mean, +though.”</p> + +<p>To their great surprise, Maida put her +head down on the table and cried.</p> + +<p>For a moment the room was perfectly silent. +The fire snapped and Dicky went +over to look at it. He stood with his back +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +turned to the other children but a suspicious +snuffle came from his direction. Arthur +Duncan walked to the window and stood +looking out. Rosie sat still, her eyes downcast, +her little white teeth biting her red +lips. Then suddenly she jumped to her +feet, ran like a whirlwind to Maida’s side. +She put her arms about the bowed figure.</p> + +<p>“Oh, do excuse me, Maida,” she begged. +“I know I’m the worst girl in the world. +Everybody says so and I guess it’s true. +But I do love you and I wouldn’t have hurt +your feelings for anything. I don’t believe +you’d be a fraid-cat or teacher’s pet—I +truly don’t. Please excuse me.”</p> + +<p>Maida wiped her tears away. “Of course +I’ll excuse you! But just the same, Rosie, +I hope you won’t hook jack any more for +someday you’ll be sorry.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to make some candy now,” +Rosie said, adroitly changing the subject. +“I brought some molasses and butter and +everything I need.” She began to bustle +about the stove. Soon they were all laughing +again.</p> + +<p>Maida had never pulled candy before and +she thought it the most enchanting fun in +the world. It was hard to keep at work, +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page197">[Pg 197]</a></span> +though, when it was such a temptation to +stop and eat it. But she persevered and succeeded +in pulling hers whiter than anybody’s. +She laughed and talked so busily +that, when she started to put on her things, +all traces of tears had disappeared.</p> + +<p>The rain had stopped. The puddle was +of monster size after so long a storm. They +came out just in time to help Molly fish +Tim out of the water and to prevent Betsy +from giving a stray kitten a bath. Following +Rosie and Arthur, Maida waded through +it from one end to the other—it seemed the +most perilous of adventures to her.</p> + +<p>After that meeting, the W.M.N.T.’s +were busier than they had ever been. Every +other afternoon, and always when it was +bad weather, they worked at Maida’s house. +Granny gave Maida a closet all to herself +and as fast as the things were finished they +were put in boxes and stowed away on its +capacious shelves.</p> + +<p>Arthur whittled and carved industriously. +His work went slower than Dicky’s of +course but, still, it went with remarkable +quickness. Maida often stopped her own +work on the paper things to watch Arthur’s. +It was a constant marvel to her that such +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page198">[Pg 198]</a></span> +big, awkward-looking hands could perform +feats of such delicacy. Her own fingers, +small and delicate as they were, bungled +surprisingly at times.</p> + +<p>“And as for the paste,” Maida said in +disgust to Rosie one day, “you’d think that +I fell into the paste-pot every day. I wash +it off my hands and face. I pick it off of +my clothes and sometimes Granny combs it +out of my hair.”</p> + +<p>Often after dinner, the W.M.N.T.’s +would call in a body on Maida. Then would +follow long hours of such fun that Maida +hated to hear the clock strike nine. Always +there would be molasses-candy making by +the capable Rosie at the kitchen stove and +corn-popping by the vigorous Arthur on the +living-room hearth. After the candy had +cooled and the pop corn had been flooded in +melted butter, they would gather about the +hearth to roast apples and chestnuts and to +listen to the fairy-tales that Maida would +read.</p> + +<p>The one thing which she could do and +they could not was to read with the ease +and expression of a grown person. As +many of her books were in French as in +English and it was the wonder of the other +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +W.M.N.T.’s that she could read a French +story, translating as she went. Her books +were a delight to Arthur and Dicky and she +lent them freely. Rosie liked to listen to +stories but she did not care to read.</p> + +<p>Maida was very happy nowadays. Laura +was the only person in the Court who had +caused her any uneasiness. Since the day +that Laura had made herself so disagreeable, +Maida had avoided her steadily. Best +of all, perhaps, Maida’s health had improved +so much that even her limp was +slowly disappearing.</p> + +<p>In the course of time, the children taught +Maida the secret language of the W.M.N.T.’s. +They could hold long conversations +that were unintelligible to anybody else. +When at first they used it in fun before +Maida, she could not understand a word. +After they had explained it to her, she wondered +that she had ever been puzzled.</p> + +<p>“It’s as easy as anything,” Rosy said. +“You take off the first sound of a word and +put it on the end with an <span style="font-style: italic">ay</span> added to it +like MAN—an-may. BOY—oy-bay. +GIRL—irl-gay. When a word is just one +sound like I or O, or when it begins with +a vowel like EEL or US or OUT, you add +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +<span style="font-style: italic">way</span>, like I—I-way. O—O-way. EEL—eel-way. +US—us-way. OUT—out-way.”</p> + +<p>Thus Maida could say to Rosie:</p> + +<p>“Are-way ou-yay oing-gay o-tay ool-schay +o-tay ay-day?” and mean simply, “Are you +going to school to-day?”</p> + +<p>And sometimes to Maida’s grief, Rosie +would reply roguishly:</p> + +<p>“O-nay I-way am-way oing-gay o-tay ook-hay +ack-jay ith-way Arthur-way.”</p> + +<p>Billy Potter was finally invited to join the +W.M.N.T.’s too. He never missed a +meeting if he could possibly help it.</p> + +<p>“Why do you call Maida, <span style="font-style: normal">‘Petronilla’</span>?” +Dicky asked him curiously one day when +Maida had run home for more paper.</p> + +<p>“Petronilla is the name of a little girl in +a fairy-tale that I read when I was a little +boy,” Billy answered.</p> + +<p>“And was she like Maida?” Arthur +asked.</p> + +<p>“Very.”</p> + +<p>“How?” Rosie inquired.</p> + +<p>“Petronilla had a gold star set in her +forehead by a fairy when she was a baby,” +Billy explained. “It was a magic star. +Nobody but fairies could see it but it was +always there. Anybody who came within +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page201">[Pg 201]</a></span> +the light of Petronilla’s star, no matter how +wicked or hopeless or unhappy he was, was +made better and hopefuller and happier.”</p> + +<p>Nobody spoke for an instant.</p> + +<p>Then, “I guess Maida’s got the star all +right,” Dicky said.</p> + +<p>Billy was very interested in the secret +language. At first when they talked this +gibberish before him, he listened mystified. +But to their great surprise he never asked +a question. They went right on talking as +if he were not present. In an interval of +silence, Billy said softly:</p> + +<p>“I-way onder-way if-way I-way ought-bay +a-way uart-quay of-way ice-way-eam-cray, +ese-thay ildren-chay ould-way eat-way +it-way.”</p> + +<p>For a moment nobody could speak. Then +a deafening, “es-yay!” was shouted at the +top of four pairs of lungs.</p> + +<hr /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page202">[Pg 202]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> +<h3>PLAY</h3> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>But although the W.M.N.T.’s worked +very hard, you must not suppose that +they left no time to play. Indeed, the +weather was so fine that it was hard to stay +in the house. The beautiful Indian summer +had come and each new day dawned +more perfect than the last. The trees had +become so gorgeous that it was as if the +streets were lined with burning torches. +Whenever a breeze came, they seemed to +flicker and flame and flare. Maida and +Rosie used to shuffle along the gutters gathering +pocketsful of glossy horse-chestnuts +and handfuls of gorgeous leaves.</p> + +<p>Sometimes it seemed to Maida that she did +not need to play, that there was fun enough +in just being out-of-doors. But she did +play a great deal for she was well enough to +join in all the fun now and it seemed to her +that she never could get enough of any one +game. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> + +<p>She would play house and paper-dolls +and ring-games with the little children in +the morning when the older ones were in +school. She would play jackstones with +the bigger girls in the afternoon. She +would play running games with the crowd +of girls and boys, of whom the W.M.N.T.’s +were the leaders, towards night. Then +sometimes she would grumble to Granny because +the days were so short.</p> + +<p>Of all the games, Hoist-the-Sail was her +favorite. She often served as captain on +her side. But whether she called or awaited +the cry, “Liberty poles are bending—hoist +the sail!” a thrill ran through her that made +her blood dance.</p> + +<p>“It’s no use in talking, Granny,” Maida +said joyfully one day. “My leg is getting +stronger. I jumped twenty jumps to-day +without stopping.”</p> + +<p>After that her progress was rapid. She +learned to jump in the rope with Rosie.</p> + +<p>They were a pretty sight. People passing +often gave them more than one glance—Rosie +so vivid and sparkling, in the scarlet +cape and hat all velvety jet-blacks, satiny +olives and brilliant crimsons—Maida slim, +delicate, fairy-like in her long squirrel-coat +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page204">[Pg 204]</a></span> +and cap, her airy ringlets streaming in the +breeze and the eyes that had once been so +wistful now shining with happiness.</p> + +<p>“Do you know what you look like, +Maida?” Rosie said once. Before Maida +could answer, she went on. “You look like +that little mermaid princess in Anderson’s +fairy tales—the one who had to suffer so +to get legs like mortals.”</p> + +<p>“Do I?” Maida laughed. “Now isn’t it +strange I have always thought that you look +like somebody in a fairy tale, too. You’re +like Rose-Red in <span style="font-style: normal">‘Rose-Red and Snow-White.’</span> +I think,” she added, flushing, for +she was a little afraid that it was not polite +to say things like this, “that you are the +beautifulest girl I ever saw.”</p> + +<p>“Why, that’s just what I think of you,” +Rosie said in surprise.</p> + +<p>“I just love black hair,” Maida said.</p> + +<p>“And I just adore golden hair,” Rosie +said. “Now, isn’t that strange?”</p> + +<p>“I guess,” Maida announced after a moment +of thought, “people like what they +haven’t got.”</p> + +<p>After a while, Rosie taught Maida to jump +in the big rope with a half a dozen children +at once. Maida never tired of this. When +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +she heard the rope swishing through the +air, a kind of excitement came over her. +She was proud to think that she had caught +the trick—that something inside would +warn her when to jump—that she could be +sure that this warning would not come an +instant too soon or too late. The consciousness +of a new strength and a new power +made a different child of her. It made her +eyes sparkle like gray diamonds. It made +her cheeks glow like pink peonies.</p> + +<p>By this time she could spin tops with +the best of them—sometimes she had five +tops going at once. This was a sport of +which the W.M.N.T.’s never tired. They +kept it up long into the twilight. Sometimes +Granny would have to ring the dinner-bell +a half a dozen times before Maida +appeared. Maida did not mean to be disobedient. +She simply did not hear the bell. +Granny’s scoldings for this carelessness +were very gentle—Maida’s face was too radiant +with her triumph in this new skill.</p> + +<p>There was something about Primrose +Court—the rows of trees welded into a yellow +arch high over their heads, the sky +showing through in diamond-shaped glints +of blue, the tiny trim houses and their +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +tinier, trimmer yards, the doves pink-toeing +everywhere, their throats bubbling color as +wonderful as the old Venetian glass in the +Beacon Street house, the children running +and shouting, the very smell of the dust +which their pattering feet threw up—something +in the look of all this made Maida’s +spirits leap.</p> + +<p>“I’m happy, <span style="font-style: italic">happy</span>, HAPPY,” Maida +said one day. The next—Rosie came rushing +into the shop with a frightened face.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Maida,” she panted, “a terrible +thing has happened. Laura Lathrop’s got +diphtheria—they say she’s going to die.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Rosie, how dreadful! Who told +you so?”</p> + +<p>“Annie the cook told Aunt Theresa. Dr. +Ames went there three times yesterday. +Annie says Mrs. Lathrop looks something +awful.”</p> + +<p>“The poor, poor woman,” Granny murmured +compassionately.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m so sorry I was cross to Laura,” +Maida said, conscience-stricken. “Oh, I do +hope she won’t die.”</p> + +<p>“It must be dreadful for Laura,” Rosie +continued, “Harold can’t go near her. Nobody +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +goes into the room but her mother and +the nurse.”</p> + +<p>The news cast a deep gloom over the +Court. The little children—Betsy, Molly +and Tim played as usual for they could not +understand the situation. But the noisy +fun of the older children ceased entirely. +They gathered on the corner and talked in +low voices, watching with dread any movement +in the Lathrop house. For a week +or more Primrose Court was the quietest +spot in the neighborhood.</p> + +<p>“They say she’s sinking,” Rosie said that +first night.</p> + +<p>The thought of it colored Maida’s dreams.</p> + +<p>“She’s got through the night all right,” +Rosie reported in the morning, her face +shining with hope. “And they think she’s +a little better.” But late the next afternoon, +Rosie appeared again, her face dark +with dread, “Laura’s worse again.”</p> + +<p>Two or three days passed. Sometimes +Laura was better. Oftener she was worse. +Dr. Ames’s carriage seemed always to be +driving into the Court.</p> + +<p>“Annie says she’s dying,” Rosie retailed +despairingly. “They don’t think she’ll live +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +through the night. Oh, won’t it be dreadful +to wake up to-morrow and find the crape +on the door.”</p> + +<p>The thought of what she might see in the +morning kept Maida awake a long time that +night. When she arose her first glance was +for the Lathrop door. There was no crape.</p> + +<p>“No better,” Rosie dropped in to say on +her way to school “but,” she added hopefully, +“she’s no worse.”</p> + +<p>Maida watched the Lathrop house all day, +dreading to see the undertaker’s wagon +drive up. But it did not come—not that +day, nor the next, nor the next.</p> + +<p>“They think she’s getting better,” Rosie +reported joyfully one day.</p> + +<p>And gradually Laura did get better. +But it was many days before she was well +enough to sit up.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Lathrop says,” Rosie burst in one +day with an excited face, “that if we all +gather in front of the house to-morrow at +one o’clock, she’ll lift Laura up to the window +so that we can see her. She says Laura +is crazy to see us all.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Rosie, I’m so glad!” Maida exclaimed, +delighted. Seizing each other by +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +the waist, the two little girls danced about +the room.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m going to be so good to Laura +when she gets well,” Maida said.</p> + +<p>“So am I,” Rosie declared with equal +fervor. “The last thing I ever said to her +was that she was ‘a hateful little smarty-cat.’”</p> + +<p>Five minutes before one, the next day, all +the children in Primrose Court gathered on +the lawn in front of Laura’s window. +Maida led Molly by one hand and Tim by +the other. Rosie led Betsy and Delia. +Dorothy Clark held Fluff and Mabel held +Tag. Promptly at one o’clock, Mrs. Lathrop +appeared at the window, carrying a little, +thin, white wisp of a girl, all muffled up +in a big shawl.</p> + +<p>The children broke into shouts of joy. +The boys waved their hats and the girls +their handkerchiefs. Tag barked madly +and Rosie declared afterwards that even +Fluff looked excited. But Maida stood still +with the tears streaming down her cheeks—Laura’s +face looked so tiny, her eyes so big +and sad. From her own experience, Maida +could guess how weak Laura felt. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> + +<p>Laura stayed only an instant at the window. +One feeble wave of her claw-like +hand and she was gone.</p> + +<p>“Annie says Mrs. Lathrop is worn to a +shadow trying to find things to entertain +Laura,” Rosie said one night to Maida and +Billy Potter. “She’s read all her books to +her and played all her games with her and +Laura keeps saying she wished she had +something new.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I do wish we could think of something +to do for her,” Maida said wistfully. +“I know just how she feels. If I could +only think of a new toy—but Laura has +everything. And then the trouble with toys +is that after you’ve played with them once, +there’s no more fun in them. I know what +that is. If we all had telephones, we could +talk to her once in a while. But even that +would tire her, I guess.”</p> + +<p>Billy jumped. “I know what we can do +for Laura,” he said. “I’ll have to have +Mrs. Lathrop’s permission though.” He +seized his hat and made for the door. “I’d +better see her about it to-night.” The door +slammed.</p> + +<p>It had all happened so suddenly that the +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +children gazed after him with wide-open +mouths and eyes.</p> + +<p>“What do you suppose it’s going to be, +Maida?” Rosie asked finally.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” Maida answered. “I +haven’t the least idea. But if Billy makes +it, you may be sure it will be wonderful.”</p> + +<p>When Billy came back, they asked him a +hundred questions. But they could not get +a word out of him in regard to the new toy.</p> + +<p>He appeared at the shop early the next +morning with a suit-case full of bundles. +Then followed doings that, for a long time, +were a mystery to everybody. A crowd of +excited children followed him about, asking +him dozens of questions and chattering +frantically among themselves.</p> + +<p>First, he opened one of the bundles—out +dropped eight little pulleys. Second, he +went up into Maida’s bedroom and fastened +one of the little pulleys on the sill outside +her window. Third, he did the same thing +in Rosie’s house, in Arthur’s and in Dicky’s. +Fourth, he fastened four of the little pulleys +at the playroom window in the Lathrop +house.</p> + +<p>“Oh, what is he doing?” “I can’t think +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page212">[Pg 212]</a></span> +of anything.” “Oh, I wish he’d tell us,” +came from the children who watched these +manœuvres from the street.</p> + +<p>Fifth, Billy opened another bundle—this +time, out came four coils of a thin rope.</p> + +<p>“I know now,” Arthur called up to him, +“but I won’t tell.”</p> + +<p>Billy grinned.</p> + +<p>And, sure enough, “You watch him,” was +all Arthur would say to the entreaties of +his friends.</p> + +<p>Sixth, Billy ran a double line of rope +between Maida’s and Laura’s window, a +second between Rosie’s and Laura’s, a third +between Arthur’s and Laura’s, a fourth between +Dicky’s and Laura’s.</p> + +<p>Last, Billy opened another bundle. Out +dropped four square tin boxes, each with a +cover and a handle.</p> + +<p>“I’ve guessed it! I’ve guessed it!” +Maida and Rosie screamed together. “It’s +a telephone.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the answer,” Billy confessed. +He went from house to house fastening a +box to the lower rope.</p> + +<p>“Now when you want to say anything to +Laura,” he said on his return, “just write +a note, put it in the box, pull on the upper +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +string and it will sail over to her window. +Suppose you all run home and write something +now. I’ll go over to Laura’s to see +how it works.”</p> + +<p>The children scattered. In a few moments, +four excited little faces appeared at +as many windows. The telephone worked +perfectly. Billy handed Mrs. Lathrop the +notes to deliver to Laura.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mr. Potter,” Mrs. Lathrop said suddenly, +“there’s a matter that I wished to +speak to you about. That little Flynn girl +has lived in the family of Mr. Jerome +Westabrook, hasn’t she?”</p> + +<p>Billy’s eyes “skrinkled up.” “Yes, Mrs. +Lathrop,” he admitted, “she lived in the +Westabrook family for several years.”</p> + +<p>“So I guessed,” Mrs. Lathrop said. +“She’s a very sweet little girl,” she went +on earnestly for she had been touched by +the sight of Maida’s grief the day that she +held Laura to the window. “I hope Mr. +Westabrook’s own little girl is as sweet.”</p> + +<p>“She is, Mrs. Lathrop, I assure you she +is,” Billy said gravely.</p> + +<p>“What is the name of the Westabrook +child?”</p> + +<p>“Elizabeth Fairfax Westabrook.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p> + +<p>“What is she like?”</p> + +<p>“She’s a good deal like Maida,” Billy +said, his eyes beginning to “skrinkle up” +again. “They could easily pass for sisters.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose that’s why the Westabrooks +have been so good to the little Flynn girl,” +Mrs. Lathrop went on, “for they certainly +are very good to her. It is quite evident +that Maida’s clothes belonged once to the +little Westabrook girl.”</p> + +<p>“You are quite right, Mrs. Lathrop. +They were made for the little Westabrook +girl.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lathrop always declared afterwards +that it was the telephone that really cured +Laura. Certainly, it proved to be the most +exciting of toys to the little invalid. There +was always something waiting for her when +she waked up in the morning and the tin +boxes kept bobbing from window to window +until long after dark. The girls kept her +informed of what was going on in the neighborhood +and the boys sent her jokes and +conundrums and puzzle pictures cut from +the newspapers. Gifts came to her at all +hours. Sometimes it would be a bit of +wood-carving—a grotesque face, perhaps—that +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +Arthur had done. Sometimes it was +a bit of Dicky’s pretty paper-work. Rosie +sent her specimens of her cooking from +candy to hot roasted potatoes, and Maida +sent her daily translations of an exciting +fairy tale which she was reading in French +for the first time.</p> + +<p>Pretty soon Laura was well enough to answer +the notes herself. She wrote each of +her correspondents a long, grateful and affectionate +letter. By and by, she was able +to sit in a chair at the window and watch +the games. The children remembered every +few moments to look and wave to her +and she always waved back. At last came +the morning when a very thin, pale Laura +was wheeled out into the sunshine. After +that she grew well by leaps and bounds. In +a day or two, she could stand in the ring-games +with the little children. By the end +of a week, she seemed quite herself.</p> + +<p>One morning every child in Primrose +Court received a letter in the mail. It was +written on gay-tinted paper with a pretty +picture at the top. It read:</p> + +<p style="margin-bottom: 3.00em; margin-left: 4.00em; margin-top: 2.00em; margin-right: 4.00em"> +“You are cordially invited to a Halloween +party to be given by Miss Laura +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +Lathrop at 29 Primrose Court on Saturday +evening, October 31, at a half after seven.”</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>But as Maida ceased gradually to worry +about Laura, she began to be troubled about +Rosie. For Rosie was not the same child. +Much of the time she was silent, moody and +listless.</p> + +<p>One afternoon she came over to the shop, +bringing the Clark twins with her. For awhile +she and Maida played “house” with +the little girls. Suddenly, Rosie tired of +this game and sent the children home. +Then for a time, she frolicked with Fluff +while Maida read aloud. As suddenly as +she had stopped playing “house” she interrupted +Maida.</p> + +<p>“Don’t read any more,” she commanded, +“I want to talk with you.”</p> + +<p>Maida had felt the whole afternoon that +there was something on Rosie’s mind for +whenever the scowl came between Rosie’s +eyebrows, it meant trouble. Maida closed +her book and sat waiting.</p> + +<p>“Maida,” Rosie asked, “do you remember +your mother?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” Maida answered, “perfectly. +She was very beautiful. I could not forget +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +her any more than a wonderful picture. +She used to come and kiss me every night +before she went to dinner with papa. She +always smelled so sweet—whenever I see +any flowers, I think of her. And she wore +such beautiful dresses and jewels. She +loved sparkly things, I guess—sometimes +she looked like a fairy queen. Once she +had a new lace gown all made of roses of +lace and she had a diamond fastened in +every rose to make it look like dew. When +her hair was down, it came to her knees. +She let me brush it sometimes with her gold +brush.”</p> + +<p>“A gold brush,” Rosie said in an awed +tone.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it was gold with her initials in diamonds +on it. Papa gave her a whole set one +birthday.”</p> + +<p>“How old were you when she died?” +Rosie asked after a pause in which her +scowl grew deeper.</p> + +<p>“Eight.”</p> + +<p>“What did she die of?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” Maida answered. “You +see I was so little that I didn’t understand +about dying. I had never heard of it. +They told me one day that my mother had +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page218">[Pg 218]</a></span> +gone away. I used to ask every day when +she was coming back and they’d say <span style="font-style: normal">‘next +week’</span> and <span style="font-style: normal">‘next week’</span> and <span style="font-style: normal">‘next week’</span> +until one day I got so impatient that I cried. +Then they told me that my mother was living +far away in a beautiful country and she +would never come back. They said that I +must not cry for she still loved me and was +always watching over me. It was a great +comfort to know that and of course I never +cried after that for fear of worrying her. +But at first it was very lonely. Why, +Rosie—” She stopped terrified. “What’s +the matter?”</p> + +<p>Rosie had thrown herself on the couch, +and was crying bitterly. “Oh, Maida,” she +sobbed, “that’s exactly what they say to me +when I ask them—‘next week’ and ‘next +week’ and ‘next week’ until I’m sick of it. +My mother is dead and I know it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Rosie!” Maida protested. “Oh no, +no, no—your mother is not dead. I can’t +believe it. I won’t believe it.”</p> + +<p>“She is,” Rosie persisted. “I know she +is. Oh, what shall I do? Think how +naughty I was! What shall I do?” She +sobbed so convulsively that Maida was +frightened. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Listen, Rosie,” she said. “You don’t +<span style="font-style: italic">know</span> your mother is dead. And I for one +don’t believe that she is.”</p> + +<p>“But they said the same thing to you,” +Rosie protested passionately.</p> + +<p>“I think it was because I was sick,” +Maida said after a moment in which she +thought the matter out. “They were afraid +that I might die if they told me the truth. +But whether your mother is alive or dead, +the only way you can make up for being +naughty is to be as good to your Aunt +Theresa as you can. Oh, Rosie, please go +to school every day.”</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose I could ever hook jack +again?” Rosie asked bitterly. She dried +her eyes. “I guess I’ll go home now,” she +said, “and see if I can help Aunt Theresa +with the supper. And I’m going to get her +to teach me how to cook everything so that +I can help mother—if she ever comes +home.”</p> + +<p>The next day Rosie came into the shop +with the happiest look that she had worn +for a long time.</p> + +<p>“I peeled the potatoes for Aunt Theresa, +last night,” she announced, “and set the +table and wiped the dishes. She was real +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +surprised. She asked me what had got into +me?”</p> + +<p>“I’m glad,” Maida approved.</p> + +<p>“I asked her when mother was coming +back and she said the same thing, ‘Next +week, I think.’” Rosie’s lip quivered.</p> + +<p>“I think she’ll come back, Rosie,” Maida +insisted. “And now let’s not talk any more +about it. Let’s come out to play.”</p> + +<p>Mindful of her own lecture on obedience +to Rosie, Maida skipped home the first +time Granny rang the bell.</p> + +<p>Granny met her at the door. Her eyes +were shining with mischief. “You’ve got +a visitor,” she said. Maida could see that +she was trying to keep her lips prim at the +corners. She wondered who it was. Could +it be—</p> + +<p>She ran into the living-room. Her father +jumped up from the easy-chair to meet +her.</p> + +<p>“Well, well, well, Miss Rosy-Cheeks. No +need to ask how you are!” he said kissing +her.</p> + +<p>“Oh papa, papa, I never was so happy in +all my life. If you could only be here with +me all the time, there wouldn’t be another +thing in the world that I wanted. Don’t +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page221">[Pg 221]</a></span> +you think you could give up Wall Street +and come to live in this Court? You might +open a shop too. Papa, I know you’d make +a good shopkeeper although it isn’t so easy +as a lot of people think. But I’d teach you +all I know—and, then, it’s such fun. You +could have a big shop for I know just how +you like big things—just as I like little +ones.”</p> + +<p>“Buffalo” Westabrook laughed. “I may +have to come to it yet but it doesn’t look +like it this moment. My gracious, Posie, +how you have improved! I never would +know you for the same child. Where did +you get those dimples? I never saw them +in your face before. Your mother had +them, though.”</p> + +<p>The shadow, that the mention of her +mother’s name always brought, darkened +his face. “How you are growing to look +like her!” he said.</p> + +<p>Maida knew that she must not let him +stay sad. “Dimples!” she squealed. “Really, +papa?” She ran over to the mirror, +climbed up on a chair and peeked in. Her +face fell. “I don’t see any,” she said +mournfully.</p> + +<p>“And you’re losing your limp,” Mr. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page222">[Pg 222]</a></span> +Westabrook said. Then catching sight of +her woe-begone face, he laughed. “That’s +because you’ve stopped smiling, you little +goose,” he said. “Grin and you’ll see +them.”</p> + +<p>Obedient, Maida grinned so hard that it +hurt. But the grin softened to a smile of +perfect happiness. For, sure enough, +pricking through the round of her soft, pink +cheeks, were a pair of tiny hollows.</p> + +<hr /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<h3>HALLOWEEN</h3> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>Halloween fell on Saturday that +year. That made Friday a very busy +time for Maida and the other members of +the W.M.N.T. In the afternoon, they +all worked like beavers making jack-o’-lanterns +of the dozen pumpkins that Granny +had ordered. Maida and Rosie and Dicky +hollowed and scraped them. Arthur did +all the hard work—the cutting out of the +features, the putting-in of candle-holders. +These pumpkin lanterns were for decoration. +But Maida had ordered many paper +jack-o’-lanterns for sale. The W.M.N.T.’s +spent the evening rearranging the shop. +Maida went to bed so tired that she could +hardly drag one foot after the other. +Granny had to undress her.</p> + +<p>But when the school-children came flocking +in the next morning, she felt more than +repaid for her work. The shop resounded +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page224">[Pg 224]</a></span> +with the “Oh mys,” and “Oh looks,” of +their surprise and delight.</p> + +<p>Indeed, the room seemed full of twinkling +yellow faces. Lines of them grinned in the +doorway. Rows of them smirked from the +shelves. A frieze, close-set as peas in a pod, +grimaced from the molding. The jolly-looking +pumpkin jacks, that Arthur had +made, were piled in a pyramid in the window. +The biggest of them all—“he +looks just like the man in the moon,” Rosie +said—smiled benignantly at the passers-by +from the top of the heap. Standing about +everywhere among the lanterns were groups +of little paper brownies, their tiny heads +turned upwards as if, in the greatest astonishment, +they were examining these monster +beings.</p> + +<p>The jack-o’-lanterns sold like hot cakes. +As for the brownies, “Granny, you’d think +they were marching off the shelves!” Maida +said. By dark, she was diving breathlessly +into her surplus stock. At the first touch +of twilight, she lighted every lantern left +in the place. Five minutes afterwards, a +crowd of children had gathered to gaze at +the flaming faces in the window. Even the +grown-ups stopped to admire the effect. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> + +<p>More customers came and more—a great +many children whom Maida had never seen +before. By six o’clock, she had sold out +her entire stock. When she sat down to +dinner that night, she was a very happy +little girl.</p> + +<p>“This is the best day I’ve had since I +opened the shop,” she said contentedly. +She was not tired, though. “I feel just +like going to a party to-night. Granny, can +I wear my prettiest Roman sash?”</p> + +<p>“You can wear annyt’ing you want, my +lamb,” Granny said, “for ’tis the good, busy +little choild you’ve been this day.”</p> + +<p>Granny dressed her according to Maida’s +choice, in white. A very, simple, soft little +frock, it was, with many tiny tucks made by +hand and many insertions of a beautiful, +fine lace. Maida chose to wear with it pale +blue silk stockings and slippers, a sash of +blue, striped in pink and white, a string of +pink Venetian beads.</p> + +<p>“Now, Granny, I’ll read until the children +call for me,” she suggested, “so I +won’t rumple my dress.”</p> + +<p>But she was too excited to read. She sat +for a long time at the window, just looking +out. Presently the jack-o’-lanterns, lighted +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +now, began to make blobs of gold in the +furry darkness of the street. She could not +at first make out who held them. It was +strange to watch the fiery, grinning heads, +flying, bodiless, from place to place. But +she identified the lanterns in the court by +the houses from which they emerged. The +three small ones on the end at the left meant +Dicky and Molly and Tim. Two big ones, +mounted on sticks, came from across the +way—Rosie and Arthur, of course. Two, +just alike, trotting side by side betrayed +the Clark twins. A baby-lantern, swinging +close to the ground—that could be nobody +but Betsy.</p> + +<p>The crowd in the Court began to march +towards the shop. For an instant, Maida +watched the spots of brilliant color dancing +in her direction. Then she slipped into her +coat, and seized her own lantern. When +she came outside, the sidewalk seemed +crowded with grotesque faces, all laughing +at her.</p> + +<p>“Just think,” she said, “I have never +been to a Halloween party in my life.”</p> + +<p>“You are the queerest thing, Maida,” +Rosie said in perplexity. “You’ve been to +Europe. You can talk French and Italian. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page227">[Pg 227]</a></span> +And yet, you’ve never been to a Halloween +party. Did you ever hang May-baskets?”</p> + +<p>Maida shook her head.</p> + +<p>“You wait until next May,” Rosie prophesied +gleefully.</p> + +<p>The crowd crossed over into the Court +Two motionless, yellow faces, grinning at +them from the Lathrop steps, showed that +Laura and Harold had come out to meet +them. On the lawn they broke into an impromptu +game of tag which the jack-o’-lanterns +seemed to enjoy as much as the +children: certainly, they whizzed from +place to place as quickly and, certainly, +they smiled as hard.</p> + +<p>The game ended, they left their lanterns +on the piazza and trooped into the house.</p> + +<p>“We’ve got to play the first games in the +kitchen,” Laura announced after the coats +and hats had come off and Mrs. Lathrop +had greeted them all.</p> + +<p>Maida wondered what sort of party it was +that was held in the kitchen but she asked +no questions. Almost bursting with curiosity, +she joined the long line marching to +the back of the house.</p> + +<p>In the middle of the kitchen floor stood +a tub of water with apples floating in it. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Bobbing for apples!” the children exclaimed. +“Oh, that’s the greatest fun of all. +Did you ever bob for apples, Maida?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Let Maida try it first, then,” Laura said. +“It’s very easy, Maida,” she went on with +twinkling eyes. “All you have to do is to +kneel on the floor, clasp your hands behind +you, and pick out one of the apples with +your teeth. You’ll each be allowed three +minutes.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I can get a half a dozen in three +minutes, I guess,” Maida said.</p> + +<p>Laura tied a big apron around Maida’s +waist and stood, watch in hand. The children +gathered in a circle about the tub. +Maida knelt on the floor, clasped her hands +behind her and reached with a wide-open +mouth for the nearest apple. But at the +first touch of her lips, the apple bobbed +away. She reached for another. That +bobbed away, too. Another and another +and another—they all bobbed clean out of +her reach, no matter how delicately she +touched them. That method was unsuccessful.</p> + +<p>“One minute,” called Laura.</p> + +<p>Maida could hear the children giggling at +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page229">[Pg 229]</a></span> +her. She tried another scheme, making vicious +little dabs at the apples. Her beads +and her hair-ribbon and one of her long +curls dipped into the water. But she only +succeeded in sending the apples spinning +across the tub.</p> + +<p>“Two minutes!” called Laura.</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you get those half a dozen,” +the children jeered. “You know you said +it was so easy.”</p> + +<p>Maida giggled too. But inwardly, she +made up her mind that she would get one +of those apples if she dipped her whole +head into the tub. At last a brilliant idea +occurred to her. Using her chin as a guide, +she poked a big rosy apple over against the +side of the tub. Wedging it there +against another big apple, she held it +tight. Then she dropped her head a little, +gave a sudden big bite and arose amidst applause, +with the apple secure between her +teeth.</p> + +<p>After that she had the fun of watching +the other children. The older ones were +adepts. In three minutes, Rosie secured +four, Dicky five and Arthur six. Rosie did +not get a drop of water on her but the boys +emerged with dripping heads. The little +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +children were not very successful but they +were more fun. Molly swallowed so much +water that she choked and had to be patted +on the back. Betsy after a few snaps of +her little, rosebud mouth, seized one of the +apples with her hand, sat down on the floor +and calmly ate it. But the climax was +reached when Tim Doyle suddenly lurched +forward and fell headlong into the tub.</p> + +<p>“I knew he’d fall in,” Molly said in a +matter-of-fact voice. “He always falls into +everything. I brought a dry set of clothes +for him. Come, Tim!”</p> + +<p>At this announcement, everybody shrieked. +Molly disappeared with Tim in the direction +of Laura’s bedroom. When she reappeared, +sure enough, Tim had a dry suit +on.</p> + +<p>Next Laura ordered them to sit about +the kitchen-table. She gave each child an +apple and a knife and directed him to pare +the apple without breaking the peel. If +you think that is an easy thing to do, try it. +It seemed to Maida that she never would accomplish +it. She spoiled three apples before +she succeeded.</p> + +<p>“Now take your apple-paring and form +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +in line across the kitchen-floor,” Laura commanded.</p> + +<p>The flock scampered to obey her.</p> + +<p>“Now when I say ‘Three!’” she continued, +“throw the parings back over your +shoulder to the floor. If the paring makes +a letter, it will be the initial of your future +husband or wife. One! <span style="font-style: italic">Two</span>! THREE!”</p> + +<p>A dozen apple-parings flew to the floor. +Everybody raced across the room to examine +the results.</p> + +<p>“Mine is B,” Dicky said.</p> + +<p>“And mine’s an O,” Rosie declared, “as +plain as anything. What’s yours, Maida?”</p> + +<p>“It’s an X,” Maida answered in great +perplexity. “I don’t believe that there are +any names beginning with X except Xenophon +and Xerxes.”</p> + +<p>“Well, mine’s as bad,” Laura laughed, +“it’s a Z. I guess I’ll be Mrs. Zero.”</p> + +<p>“That’s nothing,” Arthur laughed, +“mine’s an &—I can’t marry anybody +named ——‘and.’”</p> + +<p>“Well, if that isn’t successful,” Laura +said, “there’s another way of finding out +who your husband or wife’s going to be. +You must walk down the cellar-stairs backwards +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +with a candle in one hand and a mirror +in the other. You must look in the mirror +all the time and, when you get to the +foot of the stairs, you will see, reflected in +it, the face of your husband or wife.”</p> + +<p>This did not interest the little children +but the big ones were wild to try it.</p> + +<p>“Gracious, doesn’t it sound scary?” +Rosie said, her great eyes snapping. “I love +a game that’s kind of spooky, don’t you, +Maida?”</p> + +<p>Maida did not answer. She was watching +Harold who was sneaking out of the +room very quietly from a door at the side.</p> + +<p>“All right, then, Rosie,” Laura caught +her up, “you can go first.”</p> + +<p>The children all crowded over to the door +leading to the cellar. The stairs were as +dark as pitch. Rosie took the mirror and +the candle that Laura handed her and +slipped through the opening. The little audience +listened breathless.</p> + +<p>They heard Rosie stumble awkwardly +down the stairs, heard her pause at the +foot. Next came a moment of silence, of +waiting as tense above as below. Then +came a burst of Rosie’s jolly laughter. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page233">[Pg 233]</a></span> +She came running up to them, her cheeks +like roses, her eyes like stars.</p> + +<p>They crowded around her. “What did +you see?” “Tell us about it?” they clamored.</p> + +<p>Rosie shook her head. “No, no, no,” she +maintained, “I’m not going to tell you what +I saw until you’ve been down yourself.”</p> + +<p>It was Arthur’s turn next. They listened +again. The same thing happened—awkward +stumbling down the stairs, a +pause, then a roar of laughter.</p> + +<p>“Oh what did you see?” they implored +when he reappeared.</p> + +<p>“Try it yourself!” he advised. “I’m not +going to tell.”</p> + +<p>Dicky went next. Again they all listened +and to the same mysterious doings. +Dicky came back smiling but, like the +others, he refused to describe his experiences.</p> + +<p>Now it was Maida’s turn. She took the +candle and the mirror from Dicky and +plunged into the shivery darkness of the +stairs. It was doubly difficult for her to go +down backwards because of her lameness. +But she finally arrived at the bottom and +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +stood there expectantly. It seemed a long +time before anything happened. Suddenly, +she felt something stir back of her. A +lighted jack-o’-lantern came from between +the folds of a curtain which hung from the +ceiling. It grinned over her shoulder at +her face in the mirror.</p> + +<p>Maida burst into a shriek of laughter and +scrambled upstairs. “I’m going to marry +a jack-o’-lantern,” she said. “My name’s +going to be Mrs. Jack Pumpkin.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to marry Laura’s sailor-doll,” +Rosie confessed. “My name is Mrs. Yankee +Doodle.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to marry Laura’s big doll, +Queenie,” Arthur admitted.</p> + +<p>“And I’m going to marry Harold’s Teddy-bear,” +Dicky said.</p> + +<p>After that they blew soap-bubbles and +roasted apples and chestnuts, popped corn +and pulled candy at the great fireplace in +the playroom. And at Maida’s request, +just before they left, Laura danced for +them.</p> + +<p>“Will you help me to get on my costume, +Maida?” Laura asked.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” Maida said, wondering.</p> + +<p>“I asked you to come down here, Maida,” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +Laura said when the two little girls were +alone, “because I wanted to tell you that I +am sorry for the way I treated you just before +I got diphtheria. I told my mother +about it and she said I did those things because +I was coming down sick. She said +that people are always fretty and cross +when they’re not well. But I don’t think it +was all that. I guess I did it on purpose +just to be disagreeable. But I hope you +will excuse me.”</p> + +<p>“Of course I will, Laura,” Maida said +heartily. “And I hope you will forgive me +for going so long without speaking to you. +But you see I heard,” she stopped and hesitated, +“things,” she ended lamely.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I know what you heard. I said +those things about you to the W.M.N.T.’s +so that they’d get back to you. I wanted +to hurt your feelings.” Laura in her turn +stopped and hesitated for an instant. “I +was jealous,” she finally confessed in a +burst. “But I want you to understand +this, Maida. I didn’t believe those horrid +things myself. I always have a feeling inside +when people are telling lies and I +didn’t have that feeling when you were +talking to me. I knew you were telling the +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page236">[Pg 236]</a></span> +truth. And all the time while I was getting +well, I felt so dreadfully about it that I +knew I never would be happy again unless +I told you so.”</p> + +<p>“I did feel bad when I heard those +things,” Maida said, “but of course I forgot +about them when Rosie told me you +were ill. Let’s forget all about it again.”</p> + +<p>But Maida told the W.M.N.T.’s something +of her talk with Laura and the result +was an invitation to Laura to join the +club. It was accepted gratefully.</p> + +<p>The next month went by on wings. It +was a busy month although in a way, it +was an uneventful one. The weather kept +clear and fine. Little rain fell but, on the +other hand, to the great disappointment of +the little people of Primrose Court, there +was no snow. Maida saw nothing of her +father for business troubles kept him in +New York. He wrote constantly to her +and she wrote as faithfully to him. Letters +could not quite fill the gap that his absence +made. Perhaps Billy suspected +Maida’s secret loneliness for he came +oftener and oftener to see her.</p> + +<p>One night the W.M.N.T.’s begged so +hard for a story that he finally began one +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page237">[Pg 237]</a></span> +called “The Crystal Ball.” A wonderful +thing about it was that it was half-game +and half-story. Most wonderful of all, it +went on from night to night and never +showed any signs of coming to an end. +But in order to play this game-story, there +were two or three conditions to which you +absolutely must submit. For instance, it +must always be played in the dark. And +first, everybody must shut his eyes tight. +Billy would say in a deep voice, “Abracadabra!” +and, presto, there they all were, +Maida, Rosie, Laura, Billy, Arthur and +Dicky inside the crystal ball. What people +lived there and what things happened to +them can not be told here. But after an +hour or more, Billy’s deepest voice would +boom, “Abracadabra!” again and, presto, +there they all were again, back in the cheerful +living-room.</p> + +<p>Maida hoped against hope that her father +would come to spend Thanksgiving +with her but that, he wrote finally, was impossible. +Billy came, however, and they +three enjoyed one of Granny’s delicious +turkey dinners.</p> + +<p>“I hoped that I would have found your +daughter Annie by this time, Granny,” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page238">[Pg 238]</a></span> +Billy said. “I ask every Irishman I meet +if he came from Aldigarey, County Sligo +or if he knows anybody who did, or if he’s +ever met a pretty Irish girl by the name of +Annie Flynn. But I’ll find her yet—you’ll +see.”</p> + +<p>“I hope so, Misther Billy,” Granny said +respectfully. But Maida thought her voice +sounded as if she had no great hope.</p> + +<p>Dicky still continued to come for his +reading-lessons, although Maida could see +that, in a month or two, he would not need +a teacher. The quiet, studious, pale little +boy had become a great favorite with +Granny Flynn.</p> + +<p>“Sure an’ Oi must be after getting over +to see the poor lad’s mother some noight,” +she said. “’Tis a noice woman she must be +wid such a pretty-behaved little lad.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, she is, Granny,” Maida said earnestly. +“I’ve been there once or twice when +Mrs. Dore came home early. And she’s +just the nicest lady and so fond of Dicky +and the baby.”</p> + +<p>But Granny was old and very easily tired +and, so, though her intentions were of the +best, she did not make this call.</p> + +<p>One afternoon, after Thanksgiving, +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page239">[Pg 239]</a></span> +Maida ran over to Dicky’s to borrow some +pink tissue paper. She knocked gently. +Nobody answered. But from the room +came the sound of sobbing. Maida listened. +It was Dicky’s voice. At first she +did not know what to do. Finally, she +opened the door and peeped in. Dicky was +sitting all crumpled up, his head resting on +the table.</p> + +<p>“Oh, what is the matter, Dicky?” Maida +asked.</p> + +<p>Dicky jumped. He raised his head and +looked at her. His face was swollen with +crying, his eyes red and heavy. For a moment +he could not speak. Maida could see +that he was ashamed of being caught in +tears, that he was trying hard to control +himself.</p> + +<p>“It’s something I heard,” he replied at +last.</p> + +<p>“What?” Maida asked.</p> + +<p>“Last night after I got to bed, Doc +O’Brien came here to get his bill paid. +Mother thought I was asleep and asked him +a whole lot of questions. He told her that +I wasn’t any better and I never would be +any better. He said that I’d be a cripple +for the rest of my life.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p> + +<p>In spite of all his efforts, Dicky’s voice +broke into a sob.</p> + +<p>“Oh Dicky, Dicky,” Maida said. Better +than anybody else in the world, Maida felt +that she could understand, could sympathize. +“Oh, Dicky, how sorry I am!”</p> + +<p>“I can’t bear it,” Dicky said.</p> + +<p>He put his head down on the table and +began to sob. “I can’t bear it,” he said. +“Why, I thought when I grew up to be a +man, I was going to take care of mother +and Delia. Instead of that, they’ll be taking +care of me. What can a cripple do? +Once I read about a crippled newsboy. Do +you suppose I could sell papers?” he asked +with a gleam of hope.</p> + +<p>“I’m sure you could,” Maida said heartily, +“and a great many other things. But +it may not be as bad as you think, Dicky. +Dr. O’Brien may be mistaken. You know +something was wrong with me when I was +born and I did not begin to walk until a +year ago. My father has taken me to so +many doctors that I’m sure he could not +remember half their names. But they all +said the same thing—that I never would +walk like other children. Then a very +great physician—Dr. Greinschmidt—came +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +from away across the sea, from Germany. +He said he could cure me and he did. I +had to be operated on and—oh—I suffered +dreadfully. But you see that I’m all well +now. I’m even losing my limp. Now, I +believe that Doctor Greinschmidt can cure +you. The next time my father comes home +I’m going to ask him.”</p> + +<p>Dicky had stopped crying. He was +drinking down everything that she said. +“Is he still here—that doctor?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“No,” Maida admitted sorrowfully. +“But there must be doctors as good as he +somewhere. But don’t you worry about it +at all, Dicky. You wait until my father +sees you—he always gets everything made +right.”</p> + +<p>“When’s your father coming home?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t quite know—but I look for him +any time now.”</p> + +<p>Dicky started to set the table. “I guess +I wouldn’t have cried,” he said after a +while, “if I could have cried last night when +I first heard it. But of course I couldn’t +let mother or Doc O’Brien know that I’d +heard them—it would make them feel bad. +I don’t want my mother ever to know that +I know it.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p> + +<p>After that, Maida redoubled her efforts +to be nice to Dicky. She cudgeled her +brains too for new decorative schemes for +his paper-work. She asked Billy Potter to +bring a whole bag of her books from the +Beacon Street house and she lent them to +Dicky, a half dozen at a time.</p> + +<p>Indeed, they were a very busy quartette—the +W.M.N.T.’s. Rosie went to school +every day. She climbed out of her window +no more at night. She seemed to prefer +helping Maida in the shop to anything else. +Arthur Duncan was equally industrious. +With no Rosie to play hookey with, he, too, +was driven to attending school regularly. +His leisure hours were devoted to his +whittling and wood-carving. He was always +doing kind things for Maida and +Granny, bringing up the coal, emptying the +ashes, running errands.</p> + +<p>And so November passed into December.</p> + +<hr /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page243">[Pg 243]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<h3>THE FIRST SNOW</h3> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>“Look out the window, my lamb,” +Granny called one morning early in +December. Maida opened her eyes, jumped +obediently out of bed and pattered across +the room. There, she gave a scream of delight, +jumping up and down and clapping +her hands.</p> + +<p>“Snow! Oh goody, goody, goody! Snow +at last!”</p> + +<p>It looked as if the whole world had been +wrapped in a blanket of the whitest, fleeciest, +shiningest wool. Sidewalks, streets, +crossings were all leveled to one smoothness. +The fences were so muffled that they +had swelled to twice their size. The houses +wore trim, pointy caps on their gables. +The high bushes in the yard hung to the +very ground. The low ones had become +mounds. The trees looked as if they had +been packed in cotton-wool and put away +for the winter. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p> + +<p>“And the lovely part of it is, it’s still +snowing,” Maida exclaimed blissfully.</p> + +<p>“Glory be, it’ull be a blizzard before +we’re t’rough wid ut,” Granny said and +shivered.</p> + +<p>Maida dressed in the greatest excitement. +Few children came in to make purchases +that morning and the lines pouring into +the schoolhouse were very shivery and +much shorter than usual. At a quarter to +twelve, the one-session bell rang. When +the children came out of school at one, the +snow was whirling down thicker and faster +than in the morning. A high wind came +up and piled it in the most unexpected +places. Trade stopped entirely in the shop. +No mother would let her children brave so +terrific a storm.</p> + +<p>It snowed that night and all the next +morning. The second day fewer children +went to school than on the first. But at +two o’clock when the sun burst through the +gray sky, the children swarmed the streets. +Shovels and brooms began to appear, snow-balls +to fly, sleigh-bells to tinkle.</p> + +<p>Rosie came dashing into the shop in the +midst of this burst of excitement. “I’ve +shoveled our sidewalk,” she announced triumphantly. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +“Is anything wrong with me? +Everybody’s staring at me.”</p> + +<p>Maida stared too. Rosie’s scarlet cape +was dotted with snow, her scarlet hat was +white with it. Great flakes had caught in +her long black hair, had starred her soft +brows—they hung from her very eyelashes. +Her cheeks and lips were the color of coral +and her eyes like great velvety moons.</p> + +<p>“You look in the glass and see what +they’re staring at,” Maida said slyly. +Rosie went to the mirror.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see anything the matter.”</p> + +<p>“It’s because you look so pretty, goose!” +Maida exclaimed.</p> + +<p>Rosie always blushed and looked ashamed +if anybody alluded to her prettiness. Now +she leaped to Maida’s side and pretended +to beat her.</p> + +<p>“Stop that!” a voice called. Startled, +the little girls looked up. Billy stood in the +doorway. “I’ve come over to make a snow-house,” +he explained.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Billy, what things you do think of!” +Maida exclaimed. “Wait till I get Arthur +and Dicky!”</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t get many more in here, could +we?” Billy commented when the five had +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +assembled in the “child’s size” yard. “I +don’t know that we could stow away another +shovel. Now, first of all, you’re to +pile all the snow in the yard into that corner.”</p> + +<p>Everybody went to work. But Billy and +Arthur moved so quickly with their big +shovels that Maida and Rosie and Dicky did +nothing but hop about them. Almost before +they realized it, the snow-pile reached +to the top of the fence.</p> + +<p>“Pack it down hard,” Billy commanded, +“as hard as you can make it.”</p> + +<p>Everybody scrambled to obey. For a +few moments the sound of shovels beating +on the snow drowned their talk.</p> + +<p>“That will do for that,” Billy commanded +suddenly. His little force stopped, +breathless and red-cheeked. “Now I’m going +to dig out the room. I guess I’ll have +to do this. If you’re not careful enough, +the roof will cave in. Then it’s all got to +be done again.”</p> + +<p>Working very slowly, he began to hollow +out the structure. After the hole had +grown big enough, he crawled into it. But +in spite of his own warning, he must have +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page247">[Pg 247]</a></span> +been too energetic in his movements. Suddenly +the roof came down on his head.</p> + +<p>Billy was on his feet in an instant, shaking +the snow off as a dog shakes off water.</p> + +<p>“Why, Billy, you look like a snow-man,” +Maida laughed.</p> + +<p>“I feel like one,” Billy said, wiping the +snow from his eyes and from under his collar. +“But don’t be discouraged, my hearties, +up with it again. I’ll be more careful +the next time.”</p> + +<p>They went at it again with increased interest, +heaping up a mound of snow bigger +than before, beating it until it was as hard +as a brick, hollowing out inside a chamber +big enough for three of them to occupy at +once. But Billy gave them no time to enjoy +their new dwelling.</p> + +<p>“Run into the house,” was his next order, +“and bring out all the water you can +carry.”</p> + +<p>There was a wild scramble to see which +would get to the sink first but in a few moments, +an orderly file emerged from the +house, Arthur with a bucket, Dicky with a +basin, Rosie with the dish-pan, Maida with +a dipper. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Now I’m going to pour water over the +house,” Billy explained. “You see if it +freezes now it will last longer.” Very +carefully, he sprayed it on the sides and +roof, dashing it upwards on the inside +walls:</p> + +<p>“We might as well make it look pretty +while we’re about it,” Billy continued. +“You children get to work and make a lot +of snow-balls the size of an orange and just +as round as you can turn them out.”</p> + +<p>This was easy work. Before Billy could +say, “Jack Robinson!” four pairs of eager +hands had accumulated snow-balls enough +for a sham battle. In the meantime, Billy +had decorated the doorway with two tall, +round pillars. He added a pointed roof to +the house and trimmed it with snow-balls, +all along the edge.</p> + +<p>“Now I guess we’d better have a snow-man +to live in this mansion while we’re +about it,” Billy suggested briskly. “Each +of you roll up an arm or a leg while I make +the body.”</p> + +<p>Billy placed the legs in the corner opposite +the snow-house. He lifted on to +them the big round body which he himself +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page249">[Pg 249]</a></span> +had rolled. Putting the arms on was not +so easy. He worked for a long time before +he found the angle at which they would +stick.</p> + +<p>Everybody took a hand at the head. +Maida contributed some dulse for the hair, +slitting it into ribbons, which she stuck on +with glue. Rosie found a broken clothes-pin +for the nose. The round, smooth coals +that Dicky discovered in the coal-hod made +a pair of expressive black eyes. Arthur cut +two sets of teeth from orange peel and inserted +them in the gash that was the mouth. +When the head was set on the shoulders, +Billy disappeared into the house for a moment. +He came back carrying a suit-case. +“Shut your eyes, every manjack of you,” +he ordered. “You’re not to see what I do +until it’s done. If I catch one of you peeking, +I’ll confine you in the snow-house for +five minutes.”</p> + +<p>The W.M.N.T.’s shut their eyes tight +and held down the lids with resolute fingers. +But they kept their ears wide open. The +mysterious work on which Billy was engaged +was accompanied by the most tantalizing +noises. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, Billy, can’t I please look,” Maida +begged, jiggling up and down. “I can’t +stand it much longer.”</p> + +<p>“In a minute,” Billy said encouragingly. +The mysterious noises kept up. “Now,” +Billy said suddenly.</p> + +<p>Four pairs of eyes leaped open. Four +pairs of lips shrieked their delight. Indeed, +Maida and Rosie laughed so hard that +they finally rolled in the snow.</p> + +<p>Billy had put an old coat on the snow-man’s +body. He had put a tall hat—Arthur +called it a “stove-pipe”—on the snow-man’s +head. He had put an old black pipe +between the snow-man’s grinning, orange-colored +teeth. Gloves hung limply from +the snow-man’s arm-stumps and to one of +them a cane was fastened. Billy had managed +to give the snow-man’s head a cock to +one side. Altogether he looked so spruce +and jovial that it was impossible not to like +him.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Chumpleigh, ladies and gentlemen,” +Billy said. “Some members of the W.M.N.T., +Mr. Chumpleigh.”</p> + +<p>And Mr. Chumpleigh, he was until—until—</p> + +<p>Billy stayed that night to dinner. They +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page251">[Pg 251]</a></span> +had just finished eating when an excited +ring of the bell announced Rosie.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Granny,” she said, “the boys have +made a most wonderful coast down Halliwell +Street and Aunt Theresa says I can go +coasting until nine o’clock if you’ll let +Maida go too. I thought maybe you would, +especially if Billy comes along.”</p> + +<p>“If Misther Billy goes, ’twill be all +roight.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Granny,” Maida said, “you dear, +darling, old fairy-dame!” She was so excited +that she wriggled like a little eel all +the time Granny was bundling her into her +clothes. And when she reached the street, +it seemed as if she must explode.</p> + +<p>A big moon, floating like a silver balloon +in the sky, made the night like day. The +neighborhood sizzled with excitement for +the street and sidewalks were covered with +children dragging sleds.</p> + +<p>“It’s like the <span style="font-style: normal">‘Pied Piper’</span>, Rosie,” +Maida said joyfully, “children everywhere +and all going in the same direction.”</p> + +<p>They followed the procession up Warrington +Street to where Halliwell Street +sloped down the hill.</p> + +<p>Billy let out a long whistle of astonishment. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +“Great Scott, what a coast!” he +said.</p> + +<p>In the middle of the street was a ribbon +of ice three feet wide and as smooth as +glass. At the foot of the hill, a piled-up +mound of snow served as a buffer.</p> + +<p>“The boys have been working on the slide +all day,” Rosie said. “Did you ever see +such a nice one, Maida?”</p> + +<p>“I never saw any kind of a one,” Maida +confessed. “How did they make it so +smooth?”</p> + +<p>“Pouring water on it.”</p> + +<p>“Have you never coasted before, +Maida?” Billy asked.</p> + +<p>“Never.”</p> + +<p>“Well, here’s your chance then,” said a +cheerful voice back of them. They all +turned. There stood Arthur Duncan with +what Maida soon learned was a “double-runner.”</p> + +<p>Billy examined it carefully. “Did you +make it, Arthur?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Pretty good piece of work,” Billy commented. +“Want to try it, Maida?”</p> + +<p>“I’m crazy to!”</p> + +<p>“All right. Pile on!” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p> + +<p>Arthur took his place in front. Rosie +sat next, then Dicky, then Maida, then +Billy.</p> + +<p>“Hold on to Dicky,” Billy instructed +Maida, “and I’ll hold on to you.”</p> + +<p>Tingling with excitement, Maida did as +she was told. But it seemed as if they +would never start. But at last, she heard +Billy’s voice, “On your marks. Get set! +Go!” The double-runner stirred.</p> + +<p>It moved slowly for a moment across the +level top of the street. Then came the first +slope of the hill—they plunged forward. +She heard Rosie’s hysterical shriek, Dicky’s +vociferous cheers and Billy’s blood-curdling +yells, but she herself was as silent as a little +image. They struck the second slope of the +hill—then she screamed, too. The houses +on either side shot past like pictures in the +kinetoscope. She felt a rush of wind that +must surely blow her ears off. They +reached the third slope of the hill—and now +they had left the earth and were sailing +through the air. The next instant the +double-runner had come to rest on the bank +of snow and Rosie and she were hugging +each other and saying, “Wasn’t it +GREAT?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p> + +<p>They climbed to the top of the hill again. +All the way back, Maida watched the sleds +whizzing down the coast, boys alone on +sleds, girls alone on sleds, pairs of girls, +pairs of boys, one seated in front, the other +steering with a foot that trailed behind on +the ice, timid little girls who did not dare +the ice but contented themselves with sliding +on the snow at either side, daring little boys +who went down lying flat on their sleds.</p> + +<p>At the top they were besieged with entreaties +to go on the double-runner and, as +there was room enough for one more, they +took a little boy or girl with them each time. +Rosie lent her sled to those who had none. +At first there were plenty of these, standing +at the top of the coast, wistfully watching +the fun of more fortunate children. But +after a while it was discovered that the +ice was so smooth that almost anything +could be used for coasting. The sledless +ones rushed home and reappeared with all +kinds of things. One little lad went down +on a shovel and his intrepid little sister followed +on a broom. Boxes and shingles and +even dish-pans began to appear. Most +reckless of all, one big fellow slid down on +his two feet, landing in a heap in the snow. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p> + +<p>Maida enjoyed every moment of it—even +the long walks back up the hill. Once the +double-runner struck into a riderless sled +that had drifted on to the course, and was +overturned immediately. Nobody was hurt. +Rosie, Dicky and Arthur were cast safely +to one side in the soft snow. But Maida +and Billy were thrown, whirling, on to the +ice. Billy kept his grip on Maida and they +shot down the hill, turning round and +round and round. At first Maida was a little +frightened. But when she saw that they +were perfectly safe, that Billy was making +her spin about in that ridiculous fashion, +she laughed so hard that she was weak when +they reached the bottom.</p> + +<p>“Oh, do let’s do that again!” she said +when she caught her breath.</p> + +<p>Never was such a week as followed. The +cold weather kept up. Continued storms +added to the snow. For the first time in +years came four one-session days in a single +week. It seemed as if Jack Frost were on +the side of the children. He would send +violent flurries of snow just before the one-session +bell rang but as soon as the children +were safely on the street, the sun would +come out bright as summer. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> + +<p>Every morning when Maida woke up, she +would say to herself, “I wonder how Mr. +Chumpleigh is to-day.” Then she would +run over to the window to see.</p> + +<p>Mr. Chumpleigh had become a great favorite +in the neighborhood. He was so tall +that his round, happy face with its eternal +orange-peel grin could look straight over +the fence to the street. The passers-by used +to stop, paralyzed by the vision. But after +studying the phenomenon, they would go +laughing on their way. Occasionally a bad +boy would shy a snow-ball at the smiling +countenance but Mr. Chumpleigh was so +hard-headed that nothing seemed to hurt +him. In the course of time, the “stove-pipe” +became very battered and, as the result +of continued storms, one eye sank down +to the middle of his cheek. But in spite of +these injuries, he continued to maintain his +genial grin.</p> + +<p>“Let’s go out and fix Mr. Chumpleigh,” +Rosie would say every day. The two little +girls would brush the snow off his hat +and coat, adjust his nose and teeth, would +straighten him up generally.</p> + +<p>After a while, Maida threw her bird-crumbs +all over Mr. Chumpleigh. Thereafter, +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page257">[Pg 257]</a></span> +the saucy little English sparrows ate +from Mr. Chumpleigh’s hat-brim, his pipe-bowl, +even his pockets.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps the snow will last all winter,” +Maida said hopefully one day. “If it does, +Mr. Chumpleigh’s health will be perfect.”</p> + +<p>“Well, perhaps, it’s just as well if he +goes,” Rosie said sensibly; “we haven’t +done a bit of work since he came.”</p> + +<p>On Sunday the weather moderated a little. +Mr. Chumpleigh bore a most melancholy +look all the afternoon as if he feared +what was to come. What was worse, he +lost his nose.</p> + +<p>Monday morning, Maida ran to the window +dreading what she might see. But instead +of the thaw she expected, a most beautiful +sight spread out before her. The +weather had turned cold in the night. Everything +that had started to melt had frozen +up again. The sidewalks were liked frosted +cakes. Long icicles made pretty fringes +around the roofs of the houses. The trees +and bushes were glazed by a sheathing of +crystal. The sunlight playing through all +this turned the world into a heap of diamonds.</p> + +<p>Mr. Chumpleigh had perked up under the +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page258">[Pg 258]</a></span> +influence of the cold. His manner had +gained in solidity although his gaze was a +little glassy. Hopefully Maida hunted +about until she found his nose.</p> + +<p>She replaced his old set with some new +orange-peel teeth and stuck his pipe between +them. He looked quite himself.</p> + +<p>But, alas, the sun came out and melted +the whole world. The sidewalks trickled +streams. The icicles dripped away in +showers of diamonds. The trees lost their +crystal sheathing.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon, Mr. Chumpleigh began +to droop. By night his head was resting +disconsolately on his own shoulder. +When Maida looked out the next morning, +there was nothing in the corner but a mound +of snow. An old coat lay to one side. +Strewn about were a hat, a pair of gloves, +a pipe and a cane.</p> + +<p>Mr. Chumpleigh had passed away in the +night.</p> + +<hr /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page259">[Pg 259]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<h3>THE FAIR</h3> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 130%">SAVE YOUR +PENNIES</span></span><br /><span style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 90%">A CHRISTMAS +FAIR</span><br /><span style="font-size: 90%">WILL BE HELD IN THIS +SHOP</span><br /><span style="font-size: 90%">THE SATURDAY +BEFORE</span></span><br /><span style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 120%">CHRISTMAS</span></span><br /><span style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 90%">DELICIOUS +CANDIES MADE BY</span></span><br /><span style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 120%">MISS ROSIE +BRINE</span></span><br /><span style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 90%">PAPER GOODS DESIGNED +AND</span><br /><span style="font-size: 90%">EXECUTED BY</span></span><br /><span style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 120%">MASTER +RICHARD DORE</span></span><br /><span style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 90%">WOOD CARVING DESIGNED +AND</span><br /><span style="font-size: 90%">EXECUTED BY</span></span><br /><span style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 120%">MASTER ARTHUR +DUNCAN</span><br /><span style="font-size: 120%">DON'T MISS IT!</span></span> +</p> +<p></p> +<p>This sign hung in Maida’s window for +a week. Billy made it. The lettering +was red and gold. In one corner, he +painted a picture of a little boy and girl in +their nightgowns peeking up a chimney-place +hung with stockings. In the other +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page260">[Pg 260]</a></span> +corner, the full-moon face of a Santa Claus +popped like a jolly jack-in-the-box from a +chimney-top. A troop of reindeer, dragging +a sleigh full of toys, scurried through +the printing. The whole thing was enclosed +in a wreath of holly.</p> + +<p>The sign attracted a great deal of attention. +Children were always stopping to admire +it and even grown-people paused now +and then. There was such a falling-off of +Maida’s trade that she guessed that the +children were really saving their pennies +for the fair. This delighted her.</p> + +<p>The W.M.N.T.’s wasted no time that +last week in spite of a very enticing snowstorm. +Maida, of course, had nothing to do +on her own account, but she worked with +Dicky, morning and afternoon.</p> + +<p>Rosie could not make candy until the last +two or three days for fear it would get stale. +Then she set to like a little whirlwind.</p> + +<p>“My face is almost tanned from bending +over the stove,” she said to Maida; +“Aunt Theresa says if I cook another batch +of candy, I’ll have a crop of freckles.”</p> + +<p>Arthur seemed to work the hardest of all +because his work was so much more difficult. +It took a great deal of time and +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page261">[Pg 261]</a></span> +strength and yet nobody could help him in +it. The sound of his hammering came into +Maida’s room early in the morning. It +came in sometimes late at night when, cuddling +between her blankets, she thought +what a happy girl she was.</p> + +<p>“I niver saw such foine, busy little +folks,” Granny said approvingly again and +again. “It moinds me av me own Annie. +Niver a moment but that lass was working +at some t’ing. Oh, I wonder what she’s +doun’ and finking this Christmas.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you worry,” Maida always said. +“Billy’ll find her for you yet—he said he +would.”</p> + +<p>Maida, herself, was giving, for the first +time in her experience, a good deal of +thought to Christmas time.</p> + +<p>In the first place, she had sent the following +invitation to every child in Primrose +Court:</p> + +<p>“Will you please come to my Christmas +Tree to be given Christmas Night in the +<span style="font-style: normal">‘Little Shop.’</span> Maida.”</p> + +<p>In the second place, she was spying on +all her friends, listening to their talk, watching +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page262">[Pg 262]</a></span> +them closely in work and play to find +just the right thing to give them.</p> + +<p>“Do you know, I never made a Christmas +present in my life,” she said one day to +Rosie.</p> + +<p>“You never made a Christmas present?” +Rosie repeated.</p> + +<p>Maida’s quick perception sensed in Rosie’s +face an unspoken accusation of selfishness.</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t because I didn’t want to, Rosie +dear,” Maida hastened to explain. “It was +because I was too sick. You see, I was always +in bed. I was too weak to make anything +and I could not go out and buy presents +as other children did. But people +used to give me the loveliest things.”</p> + +<p>“What did they give you?” Rosie asked +curiously.</p> + +<p>“Oh, all kinds of things. Father’s given +me an automobile and a pair of Shetland +ponies and a family of twenty dolls and my +weight in silver dollars. I can’t remember +half the things I’ve had.”</p> + +<p>“A pair of Shetland ponies, an automobile, +a family of twenty dolls, your weight +in silver dollars,” Rosie repeated after her. +“Why, Maida, you’re dreaming or you’re +out of your head.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Out of my head! Why, Rosie you’re +out of <span style="font-style: italic">your</span> head. Don’t you suppose I +know what I got for Christmas?” Maida’s +eyes began to flash and her lips to tremble.</p> + +<p>“Well, now, Maida, just think of it,” Rosie +said in her most reasonable voice. “Here +you are a little girl just like anybody else +only you’re running a shop. Now just as +if you could afford to have an automobile! +Why, my father knows a man who knows +another man who bought an automobile and +it cost nine hundred dollars. What did +yours cost?”</p> + +<p>“Two thousand dollars.” Maida said +this with a guilty air in spite of her knowledge +of her own truth.</p> + +<p>Rosie smiled roguishly. “Maida, dear,” +she coaxed, “you dreamed it.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Well, perhaps I <span style="font-style: italic">did</span> +dream it, Rosie,” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page264">[Pg 264]</a></span> +she said archly. “But I don’t think I did,” +she added in a quiet voice.</p> + +<p>Rosie turned the subject tactfully. +“What are you going to give your father?” +she asked.</p> + +<p>“That’s bothering me dreadfully,” Maida +sighed; “I can’t think of anything he +needs.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Adolph, his valet, always shaves +him,” Maida answered.</p> + +<p>Rosie’s brow knit over the word +<span style="font-style: italic">valet</span>—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 +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +and doesn’t cut or anything. Now, wouldn’t +you think that would be fun?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Rosie,” Maida asked breathlessly, +“do you mean that your mother’s come +back?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>Maida patted her hand. “She’s coming +back,” she said; “I know it.”</p> + +<p>Rosie sighed. “You come down Main +Street the night before Christmas. Dicky +and I are going to buy our Christmas presents +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page266">[Pg 266]</a></span> +then and we can show you where to +get the little razor.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>The night before the fair, the children +worked even harder than the night before +Halloween, for there were so many things +to display. It was evident that the stock +would overflow windows and shelves and +show cases.</p> + +<p>“We’ll bring the long kitchen table in +for your things, Arthur,” Maida decided +after a perplexed consideration of the subject. +“Dicky’s and Rosie’s things ought to +go on the shelves and into the show cases +where nobody can handle them.”</p> + +<p>They tugged the table into the shop and +covered it with a beautiful old blue counter-pane.</p> + +<p>“That’s fine!” Arthur approved, unpacking +his handicraft from the bushel-baskets +in which he brought them.</p> + +<p>The others stood round admiring the +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +treasures and helping him to arrange them +prettily. A fleet of graceful little boats occupied +one end of the table, piles of bread-boards, +rolling-pins and “cats,” the other. +In the center lay a bowl filled with tiny +baskets, carved from peach-stones. From +the molding hung a fringe of hockey-sticks.</p> + +<p>Having arranged all Arthur’s things, the +quartette filed upstairs to the closet where +Dicky’s paper-work was kept.</p> + +<p>“Gracious, I didn’t realize there were so +many,” Rosie said.</p> + +<p>“Sure, the lad has worked day and +night,” Granny said, patting Dicky’s thin +cheek.</p> + +<p>They filled Arthur’s baskets and trooped +back to the shop. They lined show case and +shelves with the glittering things—boxes, +big and little, gorgeously ornamented with +stars and moons, caps of gold and silver, +flying gay plumes, rainbow boats too beautiful +to sail on anything but fairy seas, miniature +jackets and trousers that only a circus +rider would wear.</p> + +<p>“Dicky, I never did see anything look so +lovely,” Maida said, shaking her hands with +delight. “I really didn’t realize how pretty +they were.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p> + +<p>Dicky’s big eyes glowed with satisfaction. +“Nor me neither,” he confessed.</p> + +<p>“And now,” Maida said, bubbling over +with suppressed importance, “Rosie’s candies—I’ve +saved that until the last.” She +pulled out one of the drawers under the +show case and lifted it on to the counter. +It was filled with candy-boxes of paper, +prettily decorated with flower patterns on +the outside, with fringes of lace paper on +the inside. “I ordered these boxes for you, +Rosie,” she explained. “I knew your +candy would sell better if it was put up +nicely. I thought the little ones could be +five-cent size, the middle-sized ones ten-cent +size, and the big ones twenty-five cent size.”</p> + +<p>Rosie was dancing up and down with delight. +“They’re just lovely, Maida, and +how sweet you were to think of it. But it +was just like you.”</p> + +<p>“Now we must pack them,” Maida said.</p> + +<p>Four pairs of hands made light work of +this. By nine o’clock all the boxes were +filled and spread out temptingly in the +show case. By a quarter past nine, three +of the W.M.N.T.’s were in bed trying +hard to get to sleep. But Maida stayed up. +The boxes were not her only surprise. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p> + +<p>After the others had gone, she and Granny +worked for half an hour in the little shop.</p> + +<p>The Saturday before Christmas dawned +clear and fair. Rosie hallooed for Dicky +and Arthur as she came out of doors at half-past +seven and all three arrived at the shop +together. Their faces took on such a +comic look of surprise that Maida burst out +laughing.</p> + +<p>“But where did it all come from?” Rosie +asked in bewilderment. “Maida, you slyboots, +you must have done all this after we +left.”</p> + +<p>Maida nodded.</p> + +<p>But all Arthur and Dicky said was +“Gee!” and “Jiminy crickets!” But +Maida found these exclamatives quite as expressive +as Rosie’s hugs. And, indeed, she +herself thought the place worthy of any degree +of admiring enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>The shop was so strung with garlands of +Christmas green that it looked like a bower. +Bunches of mistletoe and holly added their +colors to the holiday cheer. Red Christmas +bells hung everywhere.</p> + +<p>“My goodness, I never passed such a day +in my life,” Maida said that night at dinner. +She was telling it all to Granny, who +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page270">[Pg 270]</a></span> +had been away on mysterious business of +her own. “It’s been like a beehive here +ever since eight o’clock this morning. If +we’d each of us had an extra pair of hands +at our knees and another at our waists, perhaps +we could have begun to wait on all the +people.”</p> + +<p>“Sure ’twas no more than you deserved +for being such busy little bees,” Granny approved.</p> + +<p>“The only trouble was,” Maida went on +smilingly, “that they liked everything so +much that they could not decide which they +wanted most. Of course, the boys preferred +Arthur’s carvings and the girls +Rosie’s candy. But it was hard to say who +liked Dicky’s things the best.”</p> + +<p>Granny twinkled with delight. She had +never told Maida, but she did not need to +tell her, that Dicky was her favorite.</p> + +<p>“And then the grown people who came, +Granny! First Arthur’s father on his way +to work, then Mrs. Lathrop and Laura—they +bought loads of things, and Mrs. Clark +and Mrs. Doyle and even Mr. Flanagan +bought a hockey-stick. He said,” Maida +dimpled with delight, “he said he bought it +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page271">[Pg 271]</a></span> +to use on Arthur and Rosie if they ever +hooked jack again. Poor Miss Allison +bought one of Arthur’s ‘cats’—what do you +suppose for?”</p> + +<p>Granny had no idea.</p> + +<p>“To wind her wool on. Then Billy came +at the last minute and bought everything +that was left. And just think, Granny, +there was a crowd of little boys and girls +who had stood about watching all day without +any money to spend and Billy divided +among them all the things he bought. +Guess how much money they made!”</p> + +<p>Granny guessed three sums, and each +time Maida said, triumphantly, “More!” +At last Granny had to give it up.</p> + +<p>“Arthur made five dollars and thirty +cents. Dicky made three dollars and +eighty-seven cents. Rosie made two dollars +and seventy cents.”</p> + +<p>After dinner that night, Maida accompanied +Rosie and Dicky on the Christmas-shopping +expedition.</p> + +<p>They went first to a big dry goods store +with Dicky. They helped Dicky to pick out +a fur collar for his mother from a counter +marked conspicuously $2.98. The one they +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page272">[Pg 272]</a></span> +selected was of gray and brown fur. It was +Maida’s opinion that it was sable and chinchilla +mixed.</p> + +<p>Dicky’s face shone with delight when at +last he tucked the big round box safely under +his arm. “Just think, I’ve been planning +to do this for three years,” he said, +“and I never could have done it now if it +hadn’t been for you, Maida.”</p> + +<p>Next Dicky took the two little girls where +they could buy razors. “The kind that goes +like a lawn-mower,” Rosie explained to the +proprietor. The man stared hard before he +showed them his stock. But he was very +kind and explained to them exactly how the +wonderful little machine worked.</p> + +<p>Maida noticed that Rosie examined very +carefully all the things displayed in windows +and on counters. But nothing she +saw seemed to satisfy her, for she did not +buy.</p> + +<p>“What is it, Rosie?” Maida asked after +a while.</p> + +<p>“I’m looking for something for my +mother.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll help you,” Maida said. She took +Rosie’s hand, and, thus linked together, the +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page273">[Pg 273]</a></span> +two little girls discussed everything that +they saw.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, Rosie uttered a little cry of joy +and stopped at a jeweler’s window. A tray +with the label, “SOLID SILVER, $1,” +overflowed with little heart-shaped pendants.</p> + +<p>“Mama’d love one of those,” Rosie said. +“She just loved things she could hang round +her neck.”</p> + +<p>They went inside. “It’s just what I +want,” Rosie declared. “But I wish I had +a little silver chain for it. I can’t afford +one though,” she concluded wistfully.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I know what to do,” Maida said. +“Buy a piece of narrow black velvet ribbon. +Once my father gave my mother a beautiful +diamond heart. Mother used to wear it on +a black velvet ribbon. Afterwards papa +bought her a chain of diamonds. But she +always liked the black velvet best and so did +papa and so did I. Papa said it made her +neck look whiter.”</p> + +<p>The other three children looked curiously +at Maida when she said, “diamond heart.” +When she said, “string of diamonds,” they +looked at each other. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Was that another of your dreams, +Maida?” Rosie asked mischievously.</p> + +<p>“Dreams!” Maida repeated, firing up. +But before she could say anything that she +would regret, the dimples came. “Perhaps +it was a dream,” she said prettily. “But if +it was, then everything’s a dream.”</p> + +<p>“I believe every word that Maida says,” +Dicky protested stoutly.</p> + +<p>“I believe that Maida believes it,” Arthur +said with a smile.</p> + +<p>They all stopped with Rosie while she +bought the black velvet ribbon and strung +the heart on it. She packed it neatly away +in the glossy box in which the jeweler had +done it up.</p> + +<p>“If my mama doesn’t come back to wear +that heart, nobody else ever will,” she said +passionately. “Never—never—never—unless +I have a little girl of my own some day.”</p> + +<p>“Your mother’ll come back,” Maida +said.</p> + +<hr /> +<div> +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page275">[Pg 275]</a></span> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<h3>CHRISTMAS HAPPENINGS</h3> +<p class="returnTOC"><a href="#Contents">Return to Table of Contents</a></p> +</div> + +<p>Maida was awakened early Christmas +morning by a long, wild peal of the +bell. Before she could collect her scattered +wits, she heard Rosie’s voice, “Merry +Christmas! Merry Christmas! Merry +Christmas! Oh, Granny, won’t you please +let me run upstairs and wake Maida? I’ve +got something dreadfully important to tell +her.”</p> + +<p>Maida heard Granny’s bewildered “All +roight, child,” heard Rosie’s rush through +the living-room and then she bounded out +of bed, prickling all over with excitement.</p> + +<p>“Maida,” Rosie called from the stairs, +“wake up! I’ve something wonderful to +tell you.”</p> + +<p>But Maida had guessed it.</p> + +<p>“I know,” she cried, as Rosie burst into +the room. “Your mother’s come home.”</p> + +<p>“My mother’s come home,” Rosie echoed.</p> + +<p>The two little girls seized each other and +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page276">[Pg 276]</a></span> +hopped around the room in a mad dance, +Maida chanting in a deep sing-song, “Your +mother’s come home!” and Rosie screaming +at the top of her lungs, “My mother’s come +home!” After a few moments of this, they +sank exhausted on the bed.</p> + +<p>“Tell me all about it,” Maida gasped. +“Begin at the very beginning and don’t +leave anything out.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then,” Rosie began, “I will. +When I went to bed last night after leaving +you, I got to thinking of my mother and +pretty soon I was so sad that I nearly cried +my eyes out. Well, after a long while I got +to sleep and I guess I must have been very +tired, for I didn’t wake up the way I do +generally of my own accord. Aunt Theresa +had to wake me. She put on my best dress +and did my hair this new way and even let +me put cologne on. I couldn’t think why, +because I never dress up until afternoons. +Once when I looked at her, I saw there were +tears in her eyes and, oh, Maida, it made me +feel something awful, for I thought she was +going to tell me that my mother was dead. +When I came downstairs, my father hugged +me and kissed me and sat with me while I +ate my breakfast. Oh, I was so afraid he +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page277">[Pg 277]</a></span> +was going to tell me that mother was dead! +But he didn’t! After awhile, he said, +<span style="font-style: normal">‘Your Christmas presents are all up in your +mother’s bedroom, Rosie.’</span> So I skipped +up there. My father and Aunt Theresa +didn’t come with me, but I noticed they +stood downstairs and listened. I opened +the door.”</p> + +<p>Rosie stopped for breath.</p> + +<p>“Go on,” Maida entreated; “oh, do +hurry.”</p> + +<p>“Well, there, lying on the bed was my +mother. Maida, I felt so queer that I +couldn’t move. My feet wouldn’t walk—just +like in a dream. My mother said, +<span style="font-style: normal">‘Come here, my precious little girl,’</span> but it +sounded as if it came from way, way, way +off. And Maida <span style="font-style: italic">then</span> I could move. I ran +across the room and hugged her and kissed +her until I couldn’t breathe. Then she said, +<span style="font-style: normal">‘I have a beautiful Christmas gift for you, +little daughter,’</span> and she pulled something +over towards me that lay, all wrapped up, in +a shawl on the bed. What do you think it +was?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. Oh, tell me, Rosie!”</p> + +<p>“Guess,” Rosie insisted, her eyes dancing. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Rosie, if you don’t tell me this minute, +I’ll pinch you.”</p> + +<p>“It was a baby—a little baby brother.”</p> + +<p>“A baby! Oh, Rosie!”</p> + +<p>The two little girls hopped about the +room in another mad dance.</p> + +<p>“Maida, he’s the darlingest baby that +ever was in the whole wide world! His +name is Edward. He’s only six weeks old +and <span style="font-style: italic">he can smile</span>,”</p> + +<p>“Smile, Rosie?”</p> + +<p>“He can—I saw him—and sneeze!”</p> + +<p>“Sneeze, Rosie?”</p> + +<p>“That’s not all,” said Rosie proudly. +“He can wink his eyes and double up his +fists—and—and—and a whole lot of things. +There’s no doubt that he’s a remarkable +baby. My mother says so. And pretty as—oh, +he’s prettier than any puppy I ever +saw. He’s a little too pink in the face and +he hasn’t much hair yet—there’s a funny +spot in the top of his head that goes up and +down all the time that you have to be dreadfully +careful about. But he certainly is the +loveliest baby I ever saw. What do you +think my mother let me do?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, what?”</p> + +<p>“She let me rock him for a moment. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page279">[Pg 279]</a></span> +And I asked her if you could rock him some +day and she said you could.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! oh!”</p> + +<p>“And what else do you think she’s going +to let me do?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t guess. Oh, tell me quick, +Rosie.”</p> + +<p>“She says she’s going to let me give him +his bath Saturdays and Sundays and wheel +him out every day in his carriage.”</p> + +<p>“Rosie,” Maida said impressively, “you +ought to be the happiest little girl in the +world. Think of having a baby brother for +a Christmas present. You will let me wheel +him sometimes, won’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Of course I will. I shall divide him exactly +in half with you.”</p> + +<p>“Where has your mother been all this +time?” Maida asked.</p> + +<p>“Oh, she’s been dreadfully sick in a hospital. +She was sick after the baby came to +her—so sick that she couldn’t even take +care of him. She said they were afraid she +was going to die. But she’s all right now. +Father bought her for Christmas a beautiful, +long, red-silk dress that’s just to lie +down in. She looks like a queen in it, and +yet she looks like a little girl, too, for her +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page280">[Pg 280]</a></span> +hair is done in two braids. Her hair comes +way down below her waist like your mother’s +hair. And when I gave her the little +silver heart, she was so pleased with it. +She put it right on and it looked sweet. +She said she would much rather wear it on +a black velvet ribbon than on a silver +chain.”</p> + +<p>“Everything’s come out all right, hasn’t +it?” Maida said with ecstasy.</p> + +<p>“I guess it has. Now I must go. I want +to be sure to be there when the baby wakes +up. I asked my mother when you could see +the baby, Maida, and she said to-morrow. +I can’t wait to show you its feet—you never +did see such little toes in your life.”</p> + +<p>Exciting as this event was, it was as nothing +to what followed.</p> + +<p>Granny and Maida were still talking +about Rosie’s happiness when Billy Potter +suddenly came marching through the shop +and into the living-room.</p> + +<p>“Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! +Merry Christmas!” they all said at once.</p> + +<p>“Granny,” Billy asked immediately, “if +you could have your choice of all the Christmas +gifts in the world, which one would you +choose?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p> + +<p>An expression of bewilderment came +into Granny’s bright blue eyes.</p> + +<p>“A Christmas gift, Misther Billy,” she +said in an uncertain tone; “I cudn’t t’ink +of a t’ing as long as Oi can’t have me little +Annie wid me.”</p> + +<p>Maida saw Billy’s eyes snap and sparkle +at the word Annie. She wondered what—Could +it be possible that—She began to +tremble.</p> + +<p>“And so you’d choose your daughter, +Granny?” Billy questioned.</p> + +<p>“Choose my daughter. Av coorse Oi +wud!” Granny stopped to stare in astonishment +at Billy. “Oh, Misther Billy, if +you cud only foind her!” She gazed imploringly +at him. Billy continued to smile +at her, his eyes all “skrinkled up.” Granny +jumped to her feet. She seized Billy’s arm. +“Oh, Misther Billy, you <span style="font-style: italic">have</span> found her,” +she quavered.</p> + +<p>Billy nodded. “I’ve found her, Granny! +I told you I would and I have. Now don’t +get excited. She’s all right and you’re all +right and everything’s all right. She’ll be +here just as soon as you’re ready to see +her.”</p> + +<p>For a moment Maida was afraid Granny +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page282">[Pg 282]</a></span> +was going to faint, for she dropped back +into her chair and her eyes filled with tears. +But at Billy’s last words the old fire came +back to her eyes, the color to her cheeks. +“Oi want to see her at wance,” she said with +spirit.</p> + +<p>“Listen,” Billy said. “Last night I happened +to fall into conversation with a young +Irishman who had come to read the gas-meter +in my house. I asked him where he +came from. He said, <span style="font-style: normal">‘Aldigarey, County +Sligo.’</span> I asked him if he knew Annie +Flynn. <span style="font-style: normal">‘Sure, didn’t she marry my cousin? +She lives—’</span> Well, the short of it is +that I went right over to see her, though +it was late then. I found her a widow with +two children. She nearly went crazy at the +prospect of seeing her mother again, but +we agreed that we must wait until morning. +We planned—oh, come in, Annie,” he called +suddenly.</p> + +<p>At his call, the shop door opened and +shut. There was a rush of two pairs of +feet through the shop. In the doorway appeared +a young woman carrying a baby. +Behind her came a little boy on crutches. +Granny stood like a marble statue, staring. +But Maida screamed. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p> + +<p>Who do you suppose they were?</p> + +<p>They were Mrs. Dore and Delia and +Dicky.</p> + +<p>“Oh, my mother!” Mrs. Dore said.</p> + +<p>“My little Annie—my little girl,” Granny +murmured. The tears began to stream +down her cheeks.</p> + +<p>Followed kissings and huggings by the +dozen. Followed questions and answers by +the score.</p> + +<p>“And to t’ink you’ve been living forninst +us all this time,” Granny said after the excitement +had died down. She was sitting +on the couch now, with Delia asleep in her +lap, Mrs. Dore on one side and Dicky on the +other. “And sure, me own hearrt was telling +me the trut’ all the toime did Oi but +listhen to ut—for ’twas loving this foine little +lad ivry minut av the day.” She patted +Dicky’s head. “And me niver seeing the +baby that had me own name!” She cuddled +Delia close. “OI’m the happiest +woman in the whole woide wurrld this +day.”</p> + +<p> +It was arranged that the two families +were to have Christmas dinner together. +Dicky and Mrs. Dore hurried back for a +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page284">[Pg 284]</a></span> +few moments to bring their turkey to the +feast.</p> + +<p>“Granny, will you love me just the same +now that you’ve got Dicky and Delia?” +Maida said wistfully.</p> + +<p>“Love you, my lamb? Sure, I’ll love you +all the more for ’twas t’rough you I met +Misther Billy and t’rough Misther Billy I +found me Annie. Ah, Misther Billy, ’tis +the grand man you make for such a b’y that +you are!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, m’m,” said Billy.</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Dore returned, mother and +daughter went to work on the dinner, while +Billy and Maida and Dicky trimmed the +tree. When the door opened, they caught +bits of conversation, Granny’s brogue +growing thicker and thicker in her excitement, +and Mrs. Dore relapsing, under its influence, +into old-country speech. At such +times, Maida noticed that Billy’s eyes always +“skrinkled up.”</p> + +<p>They were just putting the finishing +touches to the tree when the window darkened +suddenly. Maida looked up in surprise. +And then, “Oh, my papa’s come!” +she screamed; “my papa’s come to my +Christmas tree after all!” +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p> + +<p>There is so much to tell about the Christmas +tree that I don’t know where to begin.</p> + +<p>First of all came Laura and Harold. +Mrs. Lathrop stopped with them for a moment +to congratulate Mrs. Dore on finding +her mother.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Lathrop, permit me to introduce +my father, Mr. Westabrook,” Maida said.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lathrop was very gracious. “The +neighborhood have accepted your daughter +as Mrs. Flynn’s grandchild, Mr. Westabrook. +But I guessed the truth from the +first. I believed, however, that you wished +the matter kept a secret and I have said +nothing of it to anybody.”</p> + +<p>“I thank you, madam,” said “Buffalo” +Westabrook, bending on her one of his +piercing scrutinies. “How ever the neighborhood +accepted her, they have given her +back her health. I can never be too grateful +to them.”</p> + +<p>Came Rosie next with a, “Oh, Maida, if +you could only have seen Edward when my +mother bathed him to-night!” Came Arthur, +came the Doyles, came the Clark twins +with Betsy tagging at their heels. Last of +all, to Maida’s great delight, came Dr. +Pierce. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p> + +<p>Nobody was allowed to go into the shop +where the tree stood until the last guest +had arrived. But in spite of their impatience +they had a gay half hour of waiting. +Billy amused them with all kinds of games +and tricks and jokes, and when he tired, Dr. +Pierce, who soon became a great favorite, +took them in hand.</p> + +<p>Dr. Pierce sat, most of the evening, holding +Betsy in his lap, listening to her funny +baby chatter and roaring at her escapades. +He took a great fancy to the Clark twins +and made all manner of fun for the children +by pretending that there was only one of +them. “Goodness; how you do fly about!” +he would say ruefully to Dorothy, “An instant +ago you were standing close beside +me,” or “How can you be here on the +couch,” he would say to Mabel, “when there +you are as plain as a pikestaff standing up +in the corner?”</p> + +<p>“What can you do about that leg, Eli?” +Mr. Westabrook asked Dr. Pierce once +when Dicky swung across the room.</p> + +<p>“I’ve been thinking about that,” Dr. +Pierce answered briskly. “I guess Granny +and Annie will have to let me take Dicky for +a while. A few months in my hospital and +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page287">[Pg 287]</a></span> +he’ll be jumping round here like a frog with +the toothache.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Dr. Pierce, do you think you can +cure him?” Mrs. Dore asked, clasping her +hands.</p> + +<p>“Cure him!” Dr. Pierce answered with +his jolliest laugh. “Of course we can. +He’s not in half so bad a condition as +Maida was when we straightened her out. +Greinschmidt taught us a whole bag of +tricks. Dicky could almost mend himself if +he’d only stay still long enough. Look at +Maida. Would you ever think she’d been +much worse than Dicky?”</p> + +<p>Everybody stared hard at Maida, seated +on her father’s knee, and she dimpled and +blushed under the observation. She was +dressed all in white—white ribbons, white +sash, white socks and shoes, the softest, +filmiest white cobweb dress. Her hair +streamed loose—a cascade of delicate, clinging +ringlets of the palest gold. Her big, +gray eyes, soft with the happiness of the +long day, reflected the firelight. Her +cheeks had grown round as well as pink and +dimpled.</p> + +<p>She did not look sick.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Dicky,” she cried, “just think, +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page288">[Pg 288]</a></span> +you’re going to be cured. Didn’t I tell you +when my father saw you, he’d fix it all +right? My father’s a magician!”</p> + +<p>But Dicky could not answer. He was +gulping furiously to keep back the tears of +delight. But he smiled his radiant smile. +Billy took everybody’s attention away from +him by turning an unexpected cartwheel in +the middle of the floor.</p> + +<p>Finally, Maida announced that it was +time for the tree. They formed in line and +marched into the shop to a tune that Billy +thumped out of the silver-toned old spinet.</p> + +<p>I wish you could have heard the things +the children said.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The tree went close to the ceiling. Just +above it, with arms outstretched, swung a +beautiful Christmas angel. Hanging from +it were all kinds of glittery, quivery, +sparkly things in silver and gold. Festooned +about it were strings of pop corn +and cranberries. At every branch-tip glistened +a long glass icicle. And the whole +thing was ablaze with candles and veiled +in a mist of gold and silver.</p> + +<p>At the foot of the tree, groups of tiny +figures in painted plaster told the whole +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page289">[Pg 289]</a></span> +Christmas Day story from the moment of +the first sight of the star by the shepherds +who watched their flocks to the arrival, at +the manger, of the Wise Men, bearing gold, +frankincense and myrrh.</p> + +<p>Billy Potter disappeared for a moment +and came in, presently, the most chubby and +pink-faced and blue-eyed of Santa Clauses, +in purple velvet trimmed with ermine, with +long white hair and a long white beard.</p> + +<p>I can’t begin to name to you all the fruits +of that magic tree. From Maida, there +came to Rosie a big golden cage with a pair +of canary birds, to Arthur a chest of wonderful +tools, to Dicky a little bookcase full +of beautiful books, to Laura a collection of +sashes and ribbons, to Harold a long train +of cars. For Molly, Betsy and the Clark +twins came so many gifts that you could +hardly count them all—dolls and dolls’ +wardrobes, tiny doll-houses and tinier doll-furniture. +For Tim came a sled and bicycle.</p> + +<p>To Maida came a wonderful set of paper +boxes from Dicky, a long necklace of carved +beads from Arthur, a beautiful blank-book, +with all her candy recipes, beautifully written +out, from Rosie, a warm little pair of +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page290">[Pg 290]</a></span> +knitted bed-shoes from Granny, a quaint, +little, old-fashioned locket from Dr. Pierce—he +said it had once belonged to another +little sick girl who died.</p> + +<p>From Billy came a book. Perhaps you +can fancy how Maida jumped when she read +“The Crystal Ball,” by William Potter, on +the cover. But I do not think you can +imagine how pleased she looked when inside +she read the printed dedication, “To Petronilla.”</p> + +<p>From her father came a beautiful miniature +of her mother, painted on ivory. +The children crowded about her to see the +beautiful face of which Maida had told them +so much. There was the mass of golden +hair which she had described so proudly. +There, too, was a heart-shaped pendant of +diamonds, suspended from a black velvet +ribbon tied close to the white throat.</p> + +<p>The children looked at the picture. Then +they looked at each other.</p> + +<p>But Maida did not notice. She was +watching eagerly while Dr. Pierce and Billy +and her father opened her gifts to them.</p> + +<p>She was afraid they would not understand. +“They’re to save time, you see, +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page291">[Pg 291]</a></span> +when you want to shave in a hurry,” she +explained.</p> + +<p>“Maida,” her father said gravely, “that +is a very thoughtful gift. It’s strange +when you come to think of it, as busy a man +as I am and with all the friends I have, nobody +has ever thought to give me a safety +razor.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know how I ever managed to get +along without one,” Dr. Pierce declared, his +curls bobbing.</p> + +<p>“As for me—I shall probably save about +a third of my income in the future,” Billy +announced.</p> + +<p>All three were so pleased that they +laughed for a long time.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to give you another Christmas +present, Maida,” Mr. Westabrook said suddenly, +“I’m going to give us both one—a +vacation. We’re going to start for Europe, +week after next.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, papa, papa, how lovely!” Maida +said. “Shall we see Venice again? But +how can I give up my little shop and my +friends?”</p> + +<p>“Maida going away!” the children exclaimed. +“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” “But +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page292">[Pg 292]</a></span> +Mr. Westabrook, isn’t Maida coming back +again?” Rosie asked. “How I shall miss +her!” Laura chimed in.</p> + +<p>“Take my lamb away,” Granny wailed. +“Sure, she’ll be tuk sick in those woild +counthries! You’ll have to take me wid +you, Misther Westabrook—only—only—” +She did not finish her sentence but her eyes +went anxiously to her daughter’s face.</p> + +<p>“No, Granny, you’re not to go,” Mr. +Westabrook said decisively; “You’re to stay +right here with your daughter and her children. +You’re all to run the shop and live +over it. Maida’s old enough and well +enough to take care of herself now. And I +think she’d better begin to take care of me +as well. Don’t you think so, Maida?”</p> + +<p>“Of course I do, papa. If you need me, +I want to.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Westabrook,” Molly broke into the +conversation determinedly, “did you ever +give Maida a pair of Shetland ponies?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Westabrook bent on the Robin the +most amused of his smiles.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said.</p> + +<p>“And an automobile?” Tim asked.</p> + +<p>Mr. Westabrook turned to the Bogle. +“Yes,” he said, a little puzzled. +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p> + +<p>“And did Maida’s mother have a gold +brush with her initials in diamonds on it?” +Rosie asked.</p> + +<p>Mr. Westabrook roared. “Yes,” he +said.</p> + +<p>“And have you got twelve peacocks, two +of them white?” Arthur asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And has Maida a little theater of her +own and a doll-house as big as a cottage?” +Laura asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And did she have a May-party last year +that she invited over four hundred children +to?” Harold asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And did you give her her weight in silver +dollars once?” Mabel asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And a family of twenty dolls?” Dorothy +asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes, you shall see all these things when +we come back,” Mr. Westabrook promised.</p> + +<p>“Then why did she run away?” Betsy +asked solemnly.</p> + +<p>Everybody laughed.</p> + +<p>“I always said Maida was a princess in +disguise,” Dicky maintained, “and now I +<span class='pagenum'><a id="page294">[Pg 294]</a></span> +suppose she’s going back and be a princess +again.”</p> + +<p>“Dicky was the first friend I made, +papa,” Maida said, smiling at her first +friend.</p> + +<p>“But you’ll come back some time, won’t +you, Maida?” Dicky begged.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Dicky,” Maida answered, +“<span style="font-style: italic">I’ll</span> +come back.”</p> + +<p>Yes, Maida did come back. And what fun +they all have, the Little Six in their private +quarters, and the Big Six with their picnics, +and their adventures with the Gypsies, is +told in <span style="font-style: italic">Maida’s Little House</span>.<br /></p> + +<p style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em">THE END<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<p style="font-size: 125%; text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em">THE CAROLYN WELLS BOOKS FOR GIRLS</p> +<hr /> +<p style="margin-bottom: 1.00em">Fresh, spirited stories that the modern small girl will take to her +heart these well known books by a famous author have won an important +place in the field of juvenile fiction.</p> + +<p style="margin-top:2.0em; text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em">THE FAMOUS “PATTY” BOOKS</p> +<table style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto" summary="Patty Books" width="60%"> +<tr><td>Patty Fairfield</td><td>Patty’s Motor Car</td></tr> +<tr><td>Patty at Home</td><td>Patty’s Butterfly Days</td></tr> +<tr><td>Patty in the City</td><td>Patty’s Social Season</td></tr> +<tr><td>Patty’s Summer Days</td><td>Patty’s Suitors</td></tr> +<tr><td>Patty in Paris</td><td>Patty’s Romance</td></tr> +<tr><td>Patty’s Friend</td><td>Patty’s Fortune</td></tr> +<tr><td>Patty’s Pleasure Trip</td><td>Patty Blossom</td></tr> +<tr><td>Patty’s Success</td><td>Patty—Bride</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2" align="center">Patty and Azalea</td></tr> +</table> + +<p style="text-align: center; margin-top: 2.00em; margin-bottom: 1.00em">THE MARJORIE BOOKS</p> +<table style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto" summary="Marjorie Books" width="60%"> +<tr><td>Marjorie’s Vacation</td><td>Marjorie in Command</td></tr> +<tr><td>Marjorie’s Busy Days</td><td>Marjorie’s Maytime</td></tr> +<tr><td>Marjorie’s New Friend</td><td>Marjorie at Seacote</td></tr> +</table> + +<p style="text-align: center; margin-top: 2.00em ;margin-bottom: 1.00em">TWO LITTLE WOMEN SERIES</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Two Little Women<br /> +Two Little Women and Treasure House<br /> +Two Little Women on a Holiday +</p> + +<p style="text-align: center; margin-top: 2.00em; margin-bottom: 1.00em">DORRANCE SERIES</p> +<p style="text-align: center">The Dorrance Domain<br /> +Dorrance Doings +</p> + +<hr class="full" /> +<p style="font-size: 125%; text-align: center; ">THE MARY JANE SERIES</p> +<p style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em">By CLARA INGRAM JUDSON</p> +<hr /> +<p style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em">Each Volume Complete in Itself.</p> +<hr /> +<p>Take a trip with Mary Jane. She is the heroine of this popular +series for young girls. You’ll find her a charming traveling +companion. Her good nature, her abounding interest in her +friends and surroundings, and her fascinating adventures both +at home and abroad have endeared her to thousands all over +the country.</p> + +<blockquote><p>MARY JANE—HER BOOK<br /> +MARY JANE—HER VISIT<br /> +MARY JANE’S KINDERGARTEN<br /> +MARY JANE DOWN SOUTH<br /> +MARY JANE’S CITY HOME<br /> +MARY JANE IN NEW ENGLAND<br /> +MARY JANE’S COUNTRY HOME<br /> +MARY JANE AT SCHOOL<br /> +MARY JANE IN CANADA<br /> +MARY JANE’S SUMMER FUN<br /> +MARY JANE’S WINTER SPORTS<br /> +MARY JANE’S VACATION<br /> +MARY JANE IN ENGLAND<br /> +MARY JANE IN SCOTLAND<br /> +MARY JANE IN FRANCE<br /> +MARY JANE IN SWITZERLAND<br /> +MARY JANE IN ITALY<br /> +MARY JANE IN SPAIN<br /> +MARY JANE’S FRIENDS IN HOLLAND</p> +</blockquote> + +<hr class="full" /> +<p style="font-size: 125%; text-align: center; ">THE BEVERLY GRAY STORIES</p> +<p style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em">by <br />CLAIR BANK</p> +<hr /> +<p style="margin-bottom: 1.00em">These stories, full of the fun and thrills of college +life, with an exciting mystery in each, have unusual +appeal for the modern girl.</p> + +<blockquote><p>BEVERLY GRAY, FRESHMAN<br /> +BEVERLY GRAY, SOPHOMORE<br /> +BEVERLY GRAY, JUNIOR<br /> +BEVERLY GRAY, SENIOR<br /> +BEVERLY GRAY’S CAREER<br /> +BEVERLY GRAY ON A WORLD CRUISE<br /> +BEVERLY GRAY IN THE ORIENT<br /> +BEVERLY GRAY ON A TREASURE HUNT<br /> +BEVERLY GRAY’S RETURN<br /> +BEVERLY GRAY, REPORTER<br /> +BEVERLY GRAY’S ROMANCE</p> +</blockquote> + +<hr class="full" /> +<p style="font-size: 125%; text-align: center; ">MELODY LANE MYSTERY STORIES</p> +<p style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em">By <br />LILIAN GARIS</p> +<hr /> + +<p style="margin-bottom: 1.00em">Thrills, secrets, ghosts—adventures that +will fascinate you seem to surround +pretty Carol Duncan. A vivid, plucky girl, her cleverness at solving mysteries +will captivate and thrill every mystery fan.</p> +<p></p> +<p>THE GHOST OF MELODY LANE</p> +<p style="margin-bottom: 1.00em; margin-left: 5.00em">Three people see the "ghost" that wanders in the grove carrying a waxy white +rose. And in the end Carol finds the rose and the ghost too!</p> + +<p>THE FORBIDDEN TRAIL</p> +<p style="margin-bottom: 1.00em; margin-left: 5.00em">Carol has several bad frights before she clears up the mystery that keeps +the family at Splatter Castle unhappy and afraid.</p> + +<p>THE TOWER SECRET</p> +<p style="margin-bottom: 1.00em; margin-left: 5.00em">The winking lights from the old tower defy explanation. Had the engaging +circus family anything to do with them?</p> + +<p>THE WILD WARNING</p> +<p style="margin-bottom: 1.00em; margin-left: 5.00em">What power did the strange, wild warning in the woods have over Polly +Flinders? Carol brings happiness to three families when she solves this mystery.</p> + +<p>THE TERROR AT MOANING CLIFF</p> +<p style="margin-bottom: 1.00em; margin-left: 5.00em">Carol finally tracks the uncanny “haunts” in the great, bleak house on +“moaning cliff” to their source.</p> + +<p>THE DRAGON OF THE HILLS</p> +<p style="margin-bottom: 1.00em; margin-left: 5.00em">When Carol runs a tea shop for a friend, a baffling mystery comes to her with +her first customer.</p> + +<p>THE MYSTERY OF STINGYMAN’S ALLEY</p> +<p style="margin-bottom: 1.00em; margin-left: 5.00em">An adorable child is left at the day nursery where Carol works—who are all +the mysterious people trying to claim her?</p> + +<p>THE SECRET OF THE KASHMIR SHAWL</p> +<p style="margin-bottom: 1.00em; margin-left: 5.00em"><span style="font-style: italic">A sequel to </span>“The Wild +Warning”<br />A shawl brought from Egypt brings with it an absorbing mystery which +Cecy, with the aid of Polly Flinders, finally solves.</p> + +<hr class="full" /> +<p style="font-size: 125%; text-align: center; ">FAIRY TALES</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-style: italic">and +tales of wonder that are favorites of young people the world over</span> +</p> + +<table summary="Fairy Tales" width="80%"> +<tr><td>ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE</td><td>Miss Mulock</td></tr> +<tr><td>ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES</td><td>Hans Christian Andersen</td></tr> +<tr><td>AT THE BACK OF THE NORTH WIND</td><td>George MacDonald</td></tr> +<tr><td>THE BLUE FAIRY BOOK</td><td>Andrew Lang</td></tr> +<tr><td>ENGLISH FAIRY TALES</td><td>Joseph Jacobs</td></tr> +<tr><td>GRANNY’S WONDERFUL CHAIR</td><td>Frances Browne</td></tr> +<tr><td>GRIMM’S FAIRY TALES</td><td>The Brothers Grimm</td></tr> +<tr><td>JAPANESE FAIRY TALES</td><td>Yei Theadora Ozaki</td></tr> +<tr><td>THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE</td><td>Miss Mulock</td></tr> +<tr><td>PINOCCHIO</td><td>C. Collodi</td></tr> +<tr><td>THE PRINCESS AND CURDIE</td><td>George MacDonald</td></tr> +<tr><td>THE PRINCESS AND THE GOBLIN</td><td>George MacDonald</td></tr> +<tr><td>THE RED FAIRY BOOK</td><td>Andrew Lang</td></tr> +<tr><td>THE WATER BABIES</td><td>Charles Kingsley</td></tr> +</table> + +<table style="margin-top: 2.00em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto" summary="Publisher" width="60%"> +<tr> + <td colspan="2" align="center"><span style="font-size: 125%">GROSSET &. DUNLAP</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td style="text-align: left"><span style="font-style: italic;">Publishers</span></td> + <td style="text-align: right"><span style="font-variant: small-caps">New York</span></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MAIDA'S LITTLE SHOP ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/17530-h/images/cover.jpg b/17530-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..85b069c --- /dev/null +++ b/17530-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/17530-h/images/fpiece.png b/17530-h/images/fpiece.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..16c9048 --- /dev/null +++ b/17530-h/images/fpiece.png diff --git a/17530-h/images/title.png b/17530-h/images/title.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0f76de1 --- /dev/null +++ b/17530-h/images/title.png |
