Maida's Little Shop

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  Maida's Little ShopByInez Haynes Irwin

  Author ofMAIDA'S LITTLE HOUSE,MAIDA'S LITTLE SCHOOL, ETC.

  Grosset & Dunlap, PublishersNew York

  Copyright, 1909, byB. W. HUEBSCH

  TOLITTLE P. D.FROMBIG P. D.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter I: The RideChapter II: Cleaning UpChapter III: The First DayChapter IV: The Second DayChapter V: Primrose CourtChapter VI: Two CallsChapter VII: TroubleChapter VIII: A Rainy DayChapter IX: WorkChapter X: PlayChapter XI: HalloweenChapter XII: The First SnowChapter XIII: The FairChapter XIV: Christmas Happenings

  MAIDA'S LITTLE SHOP

  CHAPTER I: THE RIDE

  Four people sat in the big, shining automobile. Three of them weremen. The fourth was a little girl. The little girl's name was MaidaWestabrook. The three men were "Buffalo" Westabrook, her father, Dr.Pierce, her physician, and Billy Potter, her friend. They werecoming from Marblehead to Boston.

  Maida sat in one corner of the back seat gazing dreamily out at thewhirling country. She found it very beautiful and very curious. Theywere going so fast that all the reds and greens and yellows of theautumn trees melted into one variegated band. A moment later theycame out on the ocean. And now on the water side were two otherstreaks of color, one a spongy blue that was sky, another a clearshining blue that was sea. Maida half-shut her eyes and the wholeworld seemed to flash by in ribbons.

  "May I get out for a moment, papa?" she asked suddenly in a thinlittle voice. "I'd like to watch the waves."

  "All right," her father answered briskly. To the chauffeur he said,"Stop here, Henri." To Maida, "Stay as long as you want, Posie."

  "Posie" was Mr. Westabrook's pet-name for Maida.

  Billy Potter jumped out and helped Maida to the ground. The threemen watched her limp to the sea-wall.

  She was a child whom you would have noticed anywhere because of herluminous, strangely-quiet, gray eyes and because of the ethereallook given to her face by a floating mass of hair, pale-gold andtendrilly. And yet I think you would have known that she was a sicklittle girl at the first glance. When she moved, it was with a greatslowness as if everything tired her. She was so thin that her handswere like claws and her cheeks scooped in instead of out. She waspale, too, and somehow her eyes looked too big. Perhaps this wasbecause her little heart-shaped face seemed too small.

  "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 quickabout it. Just what Greinschmidt feared has come--that languor--thatlack of interest in everything. You've got to find something for herto _do_."

  Dr. Pierce spoke seriously. He was a round, short man, just exactlyas long any one way as any other. He had springy gray curls all overhis head and a nose like a button. Maida thought that he looked likea very old but a very jolly and lovable baby. When he laughed--and hewas always laughing with Maida--he shook all over like jelly that hasbeen turned out of a jar. His very curls bobbed. But it seemed toMaida that no matter how hard he chuckled, his eyes were alwaysserious when they rested on her.

  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 herhealth ever since Dr. Greinschmidt left. Dr. Greinschmidt was thegreat physician who had come all the way across the ocean fromGermany to make Maida well. Before the operation Maida could notwalk. Now she could walk easily. Ever since she could remember shehad always added to her prayers at night a special request that shemight some day be like other little girls. Now she was like otherlittle girls, except that she limped. And yet now that she could doall the things that other little girls did, she no longer cared todo them--not even hopping and skipping, which she had always expectedwould be the greatest fun in the world. Maida herself thought thisvery strange.

  "But what can I find for her to do?" "Buffalo" Westabrook said.

  You could tell from the way he asked this question that he was notaccustomed to take advice from other people. Indeed, he did not lookit. But he looked his name. You would know at once why thecartoonists always represented him with the head of a buffalo; why,gradually, people had forgotten that his first name was Jerome andreferred to him always as "Buffalo" Westabrook.

  Like the buffalo, his head was big and powerful and emerged from themidst of a shaggy mane. But it was the way in which it was set onhis tremendous shoulders that gave him his nickname. When he spoketo you, he looked as if he were about to charge. And the glance ofhis eyes, set far back of a huge nose, cut through you like a pairof knives.

  It surprised Maida very much when she found that people stood in aweof her father. It had never occurred to her to be afraid of him.

  "I've racked my brains to entertain her," "Buffalo" Westabrook wenton. "I've bought her every gimcrack that's made for children--hernursery 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 inthe Adirondacks. I've had a doll-house and a little theater builtfor her at Pride's. She has her own carriage, her own automobile,her own railroad car. She can have her own flying-machine if shewants it. I've taken her off on trips. I've taken her to the theaterand the circus. I've had all kinds of nurses and governesses andcompanions, but they've been mostly failures. Granny Flynn's thebest of the hired people, but of course Granny's old. I've had otherchildren come to stay with her. Selfish little brutes they allturned out to be! They'd play with her toys and ignore hercompletely. And this fall I brought her to Boston, hoping hercousins would rouse her. But the Fairfaxes decided suddenly to goabroad 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."

  "It isn't anything you can _give_ her," Dr. Pierce said impatiently;"you must find something for her to _do_."

  "Say, Billy, you're an observant little duck. Can't you tell uswhat's the matter?" "Buffalo" Westabrook smiled down at the thirdman of the party.

  "The trouble with the child," Billy Potter said promptly, "is thateverything she's had has been 'prize.' Not that it's spoiled her atall. Petronilla is as simple as a princess in a fairy-tale."

  "Petronilla" was Billy Potter's pet-name for Maida.

  "Yes, she's wonderfully simple," Dr. Pierce agreed. "Poor littlething, she's lived in a world of bottles and splints and bandages.She's never had a chance to realize either the value or theworthlessness of things."

  "And then," Billy went on, "nobody's ever used an ounce ofimagination in entertaining the poor child."

  "Imagination!" "Buffalo" Westabrook growled. "What has imaginationto do with it?"

  Billy grinned.

  Next to her father and Granny Flynn, Maida loved Billy Potter betterthan anybody in the world. He was so little that she could neverdecide whether he was a boy or a man. His chubby, dimply face wasthe pinkest she had ever seen. From it twinkled a pair of blue eyesthe merriest she had ever seen. And falling continually down intohis eyes was a great mass of flaxen hair, the most tousled she hadever seen.

  Billy Potter lived in New York. He earned his living by writing fornewspapers and magazines. Whenever there was a fuss in WallStreet--and the papers always blamed "Buffalo" Westabrook if thishappened--Billy Potter would have a talk with Maida's father. Then hewrote up what Mr. Westabrook said and it was printed somewhere. Menwho 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 twomen were great friends.

  "He's one of the few reporters who can turn out a good stor
y andtell it straight as I give it to him," Maida had once heard herfather say. Maida knew that Billy could turn out good stories--he hadturned out a great many for her.

  "What has imagination to do with it?" Mr. Westabrook repeated.

  "It would have a great deal to do with it, I fancy," Billy Potteranswered, "if somebody would only imagine the right thing."

  "Well, imagine it yourself," Mr. Westabrook snarled. "Imaginationseems to be the chief stock-in-trade of you newspaper men."

  Billy grinned. When Billy smiled, two things happened--one to you andthe other to him. Your spirits went up and his eyes seemed todisappear. Maida said that Billy's eyes "skrinkled up." The effectwas so comic that she always laughed--not with him but at him.

  "All right," Billy agreed pleasantly; "I'll put the greatestcreative mind of the century to work on the job."

  "You put it to work at once, young man," Dr. Pierce said. "The thingI'm trying to impress on you both is that you can't wait too long."

  "Buffalo" Westabrook stirred uneasily. His fierce, blue eyesretreated behind the frown in his thick brows until all you couldsee were two shining points. He watched Maida closely as she limpedback to the car. "What are you thinking of, Posie?" he asked.

  "Oh, nothing, father," Maida said, smiling faintly. This was theanswer she gave most often to her father's questions. "Is thereanything you want, Posie?" he was sure to ask every morning, or,"What would you like me to get you to-day, little daughter?" Theanswer was invariable, given always in the same soft, thin littlevoice: "Nothing, father--thank you."

  "Where are we now, Jerome?" Dr. Pierce asked suddenly.

  Mr. Westabrook looked about him. "Getting towards Revere."

  "Let's go home through Charlestown," Dr. Pierce suggested. "Howwould you like to see the house where I was born, Maida--that oldplace on Warrington Street I told you about yesterday. I think you'dlike it, Pinkwink."

  "Pinkwink" was Dr. Pierce's pet-name for Maida.

  "Oh, I'd love to see it." A little thrill of pleasure sparkled inMaida's flat tones. "I'd just love to."

  Dr. Pierce gave some directions to the chauffeur.

  For fifteen minutes or more the men talked business. They had comeaway from the sea and the streams of yellow and red and green trees.Maida pillowed her head on the cushions and stared fixedly at thepassing streets. But her little face wore a dreamy, withdrawn lookas if she were seeing something very far away. Whenever "Buffalo"Westabrook's glance shot her way, his thick brows pulled togetherinto the frown that most people dreaded to face.

  "Now down the hill and then to the left," Dr. Pierce instructedHenri.

  Warrington Street was wide and old-fashioned. Big elms marching in adouble file between the fine old houses, met in an arch above theirroofs. At intervals along the curbstones were hitching-posts ofiron, most of them supporting the head of a horse with a ring in hisnose. One, the statue of a negro boy with his arms lifted above hishead, seemed to beg the honor of holding the reins. Beside thesehitching-posts were rectangular blocks of granite--stepping-stonesfor horseback riders and carriage folk.

  "There, Pinkwink," Dr. Pierce said; "that old house on thecorner--stop here, Henri, please--that's where I was brought up. Theold swing used to hang from that tree and it was from that big boughstretching over the fence that I fell and broke my arm."

  Maida's eyes brightened. "And there's the garret window where thesquirrels used to come in," she exclaimed.

  "The same!" Dr. Pierce laughed. "You don't forget anything, do you?My goodness me! How small the house looks and how narrow the streethas grown! Even the trees aren't as tall as they should be."

  Maida stared. The trees looked very high indeed to her. And shethought the street quite wide enough for anybody, the houses verystately.

  "Now show me the school," she begged.

  "Just a block or two, Henri," Dr. Pierce directed.

  The car stopped in front of a low, rambling wooden building with ayard in front.

  "That's where you covered the ceiling with spit-balls," Maida asked.

  "The same!" Dr. Pierce laughed heartily at the remembrance. Itseemed to Maida that she had never seen his curls bob quite sofuriously before.

  "It's one of the few wooden, primary buildings left in the city," heexplained to the two men. "It can't last many years now. It'snothing but a rat-trap but how I shall hate to see it go!"

  Opposite the school was a big, wide court. Shaded with beautifultrees--maples beginning to flame, horse-chestnuts a little browned,it was lined with wooden toy houses, set back of fenced-in yards andveiled by climbing vines. Pigeons were flying about, alighting nowand then to peck at the ground or to preen their green and purplenecks. Boys were spinning tops. Girls were jumping rope. The dustthey kicked up had a sweet, earthy smell in Maida's nostrils. As shestared, charmed with the picture, a little girl in a scarlet capeand a scarlet hat came climbing up over one of the fences. Quick,active as a squirrel, she disappeared into the next yard.

  "Primrose Court!" Dr. Pierce exclaimed. "Well, well, well!"

  "Primrose Court," Maida repeated. "Do primroses grow there?"

  "Bless your heart, no," Dr. Pierce laughed; "it was named after aman called Primrose who used to own a great deal of theneighborhood."

  But Maida was scarcely listening. "Oh, what a cunning little shop!"she exclaimed. "There, opposite the court. What a perfectly darlinglittle place!"

  "Good Lord! that's Connors'," Dr. Pierce explained. "Many a recklesspenny I've squandered there, my dear. Connors was the funniest, old,bent, dried-up man. I wonder who keeps it now."

  As if in answer to his question, a wrinkled old lady came to thewindow to take a paper-doll from the dusty display there.

  "What are those yellow things in that glass jar?" Maida asked.

  "Pickled limes," Dr. Pierce responded promptly. "How I used to lovethem!"

  "Oh, father, buy me a pickled lime," Maida pleaded. "I never had onein my life and I've been crazy to taste one ever since I read'Little Women.'"

  "All right," Mr. Westabrook said. "Let's come in and treat Maida toa pickled lime."

  A bell rang discordantly as they opened the door. Its prolongedclangor finally brought the old lady from the room at the back. Shelooked in surprise at the three men in their automobile coats and atthe little lame girl.

  Coming in from the bright sunshine, the shop seemed unpleasantlydark to Maida. After a while she saw that its two windows gave itlight enough but that it was very confused, cluttery and dusty.

  Mr. Westabrook bought four pickled limes and everybody ate--three ofthem with enjoyment, Billy with many wry faces and a decided,"Stung!" after the first taste.

  "I like pickled limes," Maida said after they had started forBoston. "What a funny little place that was! Oh, how I would like tokeep a little shop just like it."

  Billy Potter started. For a moment it seemed as if he were about tospeak. But instead, he stared hard at Maida, falling gradually intoa brown study. From time to time he came out of it long enough tolook sharply at her. The sparkle had all gone out of her face. Shewas pale and dream-absorbed again.

  Her father studied her with increasing anxiety as they neared thebig house on Beacon Street. Dr. Pierce's face was shadowed too.

  "Eureka! I've found it!" Billy exclaimed as they swept past theState House. "I've got it, Mr. Westabrook."

  "Got what?"

  Billy did not answer at once. The automobile had stopped in front ofa big red-brick house. Over the beautifully fluted columns that heldup the porch hung a brilliant red vine. Lavender-colored glass, hereand there in the windows, made purple patches on the lace of thecurtains.

  "Got what?" Mr. Westabrook repeated impatiently.

  "That little job of the imagination that you put me on a few momentsago," Billy answered mysteriously. "In a moment," he added with asignificant look at Maida. "You stay too, Dr. Pierce. I want yourapproval."

  The door of the beautiful old house had opened and a man in liverycame out to assist Maida.
On the threshold stood an oldsilver-haired woman in a black-silk gown, a white cap and apron, a littleblack shawl pinned about her shoulders.

  "How's my lamb?" she asked tenderly of Maida.

  "Oh, pretty well," Maida said dully. "Oh, Granny," she added with asudden flare of enthusiasm, "I saw the cunningest little shop. Ithink I'd rather tend shop than do anything else in the world."

  Billy Potter smiled all over his pink face. He followed Mr.Westabrook and Dr. Pierce into the drawing-room.

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  Maida went upstairs with Granny Flynn.

  Granny Flynn had come straight to the Westabrook house from the boatthat brought her from Ireland years ago. She had come to America insearch of a runaway daughter but she had never found her. She hadhelped to nurse Maida's mother in the illness of which she died andshe had always taken such care of Maida herself that Maida loved herdearly. Sometimes when they were alone, Maida would call her "Dame,"because, she said, "Granny looks just like the 'Dame' who comes intofairy-tales."

  Granny Flynn was very little, very bent, very old. "A t'ousand andnoine, sure," she always answered when Maida asked her how old. Herskin had cracked into a hundred wrinkles and her long sharp nose andher short sharp chin almost met. But the wrinkles surrounded a pairof eyes that were a twinkling, youthful blue. And her down-turnednose and up-growing chin could not conceal or mar the lovelysweetness of her smile.

  Just before Maida went to bed that night, she was surprised by avisit from her father.

  "Posie," he said, sitting down on her bed, "did you really mean itto-day when you said you would like to keep a little shop?"

  "Oh, yes, father! I've been thinking it over ever since I came homefrom our ride this afternoon. A little shop, you know, just like theone we saw to-day."

  "Very well, dear, you shall keep a shop. You shall keep that veryone. I'm going to buy out the business for you and put you in chargethere. I've got to be in New York pretty steadily for the next threemonths and I've decided that I'll send you and Granny to live in therooms over the shop. I'll fix the place all up for you, give youplenty of money to stock it and then I expect you to run it and makeit pay."

  Maida sat up in bed with a vigor that surprised her father. Sheshook her hands--a gesture that, with her, meant great delight. Shelaughed. It was the first time in months that a happy note hadpealed 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 workhelps."

  "All right. That's settled. But listen carefully to what I'm goingto 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 theshop--just as princesses in fairy-tales had to play games sometimes.You're going _in disguise_. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, father, I understand."

  "You're to pretend that you belong to Granny Flynn, that you're hergrandchild. You won't have to tell any lies about it. When thechildren in the neighborhood hear you call her 'Granny,' they'llsimply take it for granted that you're her son's child.

  "Or I can pretend I'm poor Granny's lost daughter's little girl,"Maida suggested.

  "If you wish. Billy Potter's going to stay here in Boston and helpyou. You're to call on him, Posie, if you get into any snarl. But Ihope you'll try to settle all your own difficulties before turningto anybody else. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, father. Father, dear, I'm so happy. Does Granny know?"

  "Yes."

  Maida heaved an ecstatic sigh. "I'm afraid I shan't get to sleepto-night--just thinking of it."

  But she did sleep and very hard--the best sleep she had known sinceher operation. And she dreamed that she opened a shop--a big shopthis was--on the top of a huge white cloud. She dreamed that hercustomers were all little boy and girl angels with floating, goldencurls and shining rainbow-colored wings. She dreamed that she soldnothing but cake. She used to cut generous slices from an angel-cakeas big as the golden dome of the Boston state house. It was verydelicious--all honey and jelly and ice cream on the inside, and allfrosting, stuck with candies and nuts and fruits, on the outside.

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  The people on Warrington Street were surprised to learn in thecourse of a few days that old Mrs. Murdock had sold out her businessin the little corner store. For over a week, the little place wasshut up. The school children, pouring into the street twice a day,had to go to Main Street for their candy and lead pencils. For along time all the curtains were kept down. Something was going oninside, but what, could not be guessed from the outside. Wagonsdeposited all kinds of things at the door, rolls of paper, tins ofpaint, furniture, big wooden boxes whose contents nobody couldguess. Every day brought more and more workmen and the more therewere, the harder they worked. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, allthe work stopped.

  The next morning when the neighborhood waked up, a freshly-paintedsign had taken the place over the door of the dingy old black andwhite one. The lettering was gilt, the background a skyey blue. Itread:

  MAIDA'S LITTLE SHOP