Maida's Little Shop (Chapter 5 & 6)

Tonight I will be reading from the Maida book series by Enos Haynes Irwin published in 1909.

The story is about a sweet little girl named Maida who is sickly and lame.

Her father is well known to be one of the most wealthiest men in America.

He decides to buy her a little shop in Charleston,

Massachusetts to give her a purpose and to help restore her health.

However,

He has one condition that she not tell anyone who she is or who her father is.

And for the first time in her life,

Maida makes wonderful new friends because they think she's just an ordinary girl.

And so,

As always my friend,

Settling comfortably under the covers,

Take a slow,

Comfortable breath.

And as you exhale,

Relax and let go.

Allow any tension to just melt away,

Letting your body sink deeper and deeper down into the softness of your bed.

There is nothing left to do and nowhere else to be.

So just lay back,

Relax,

And enjoy the story.

Chapter 5 Primrose Court But during the 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.

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.

After a day or two,

Her life fell into a regular program.

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.

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 woodbind for the vases,

And scattering crumbs to the birds.

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.

In her leisure moments,

She used to watch the people coming and going in Primrose Court.

With Rosie's and Dickie's help,

She soon knew everybody by name.

She discovered by degrees that on the right side of the court lived the Hales,

The Clarks,

The Doyles,

And the Doors.

On the left side,

The Duncans,

The Brines,

And the Allisons.

In the big house at the back lived the Lathrops.

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 ketchup.

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.

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 how did she creep past the window without my seeing her?

And outside would be rosy-cheeked,

Brass-buttoned Mr.

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

The Doyles and the Doors lived in one house next to the Clarks,

Molly and Tim on the first floor,

Dickie 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.

There's that child in the water again,

Granny would cry from the living room.

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.

Hello,

Tim,

Billy Potter would say whenever they met.

Fallen into a pud-muddle lately?

The word pud-muddle 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 Mary.

Molly certainly was the jolliest little girl in the court.

Maida had never seen her with anything but a smiling face.

Dickie's mother went to work so early and came back so late that Maida had never seen her.

But Dickie soon became an intimate.

Maida had begun the reading lessons,

And Dickie was so eager to get on that they were progressing famously.

The Lathrops lived in the big house at the back of the court.

Granny learned from the Mrs.

Allison that,

Formally,

The whole neighborhood had belonged to the Lathrop family,

But they had sold all their land,

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 Mrs.

Allisons 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.

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.

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.

The more Maida watched Laura,

The less she liked her.

She could see that what Rosie 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.

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 a while 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.

When the proceedings reached this stage,

Maeda would be so angry that she could look no longer.

Very often,

After Laura had sent the children away,

Maeda would call them into the shop.

She would let them play all the rest of the afternoon with anything her stock afforded.

On the right side of the court lived Arthur Duncan,

The Mrs.

Allison,

And Rosie Brine.

The more Maeda 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.

But he looked at her with a decided expression of contempt in his big,

Dark eyes.

But Rosie and Dickie 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.

Maeda guessed that the W.

M.

N.

T.

's met three or four times a week.

Certainly,

They were very busy doings at Dickie's or at Arthur's house every other day.

What it was all about,

Maeda did not know.

But she fancied that it had much to do with Dickie's frequent purchases of colored tissue paper.

The Mrs.

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.

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.

Maeda 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 child's the limb,

Granny would say,

When Maeda brought her some new tale of Rosie's disobedience.

And yet,

In the curious way in which Maeda divined things that were not told her,

She knew that,

Next to Dickie,

Rosie was Granny's favourite of all the children in the neighbourhood.

With all these little people to act upon at stage,

It is not surprising that Primrose Court seemed to Maeda to be a little theatre 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 leapfrog or tag 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.

Maeda used to watch these games wistfully,

For Granny had decided that they were all too rough for her.

She would not even let Maeda play London Bridges Falling Down or drop the handkerchief,

Anything in fact,

In which she would have to run or pull.

But Granny had no objections to the gentler fun of Ring-a-Ring-a-Rounder,

Water-Water-Wildflower the Farmer in the Dell.

Maeda used to try to pick out the heirs of these games on the spinnet.

She never could decide which was the sweetest.

Maeda soon learned how to play jackstones.

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.

Maeda 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 Maeda 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.

You let her jump just one jump every morning and night,

Granny,

Rosie advised,

And I'm sure it will be all right.

That won't hurt her any,

And,

After a while,

She'll find she can jump two,

Then three,

And so on.

That's the way I learned.

Granny agreed to this.

Maeda practiced constantly,

One jump in her nightgown just before going to bed,

And another all dressed up just after she got up.

I jumped three jumps this morning without falling,

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.

Dr.

Pierce called early one morning.

His eyes opened wide when they fell upon her.

Well,

Well,

Pink Wink,

He said.

What do you mean by bringing me way over here?

I thought you were supposed to be a sick young person.

Where did you get that color?

A flush like that of pink sweet pea blossom had begun to show in Maeda's cheek.

It was faint,

But it was permanent.

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.

Granny looked,

As Dr.

Pierce afterwards said,

As tickled as punch.

How do you like shopkeeping,

Dr.

Pierce went on.

Maeda 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.

Tired?

Maeda's indignation was so intense that Dr.

Pierce shook until every curl bobbed.

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.

When asked for sleeping,

Maeda stopped as if there were no words anywhere to describe her condition.

Granny finished it for her.

The child sleeps like a top.

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 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.

Oh,

Mr.

Billy,

Tis the child that you are,

Granny would say,

Twinkling.

Yes,

Ma'am,

Billy would answer.

At the end of the first fortnight,

The neighborhood had accepted Granny and Maeda as the mother-in-law and a daughter of a traveling man.

From the beginning,

Granny had seemed one of them,

But Maeda 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.

Here was a child who had never played London Bridges Falling Down,

Or Jackstones,

Or Jump Rope or Hopscotch,

Yet she talked comfortably 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 comfortably 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.

Because of all these things,

The children had a kind of contempt for her mingled with a curious awe.

She was so polite with grown people that it was fairly embarrassing.

She always rose 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 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.

She would play with the little children as willingly as the bigger ones.

Often when the older girls and boys were in school,

She would bring out a lap full 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 could see how the neighborhood would fairly buzz with talk about her.

As for Maeda,

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.

Now it was Rose Red,

Swaying like a great,

Overgrown scarlet flower from the bars of a lamppost.

Now it was Dickie,

Hoisting himself along on his crutches,

His 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 amongst the shadows of one of the deep old doorways.

And always,

In a few moments,

Came the sweetest kind of sleep.

It did not seem to Maeda that the days were long enough to do all the things she wanted to do.

CHAPTER SIX TWO CALLS One morning,

Laura Lathrop came bustling importantly into the shop.

Good morning,

Maeda,

She said.

You may come over to my house this afternoon and play with me if you like.

Thank you,

Laura,

Maeda 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.

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.

Granny's always willing to wait on customers if I want to play,

Maeda explained,

But I think she would not want me to stay longer than that anyway.

Very well then,

Shall we say at two?

Laura said this with a very grown-up air.

Maeda knew that she was imitating her mother.

Laura had scarcely left when Dickie appeared,

Swinging between his crutches.

Maeda,

He said,

I want you to come over tomorrow 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 today,

So I'll be all ready for you tomorrow.

Oh,

Thank you,

Maeda 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 her carriage,

And then she's always been asleep.

You have to see Delia in the house to know what a naughty baby she is,

Dickie said.

He spoke as if that were the finest tribute that he could pay his little sister.

Granny,

Maeda 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 Dickie came and invited me to come and see him tomorrow afternoon,

And I just love the thought of going.

Isn't it strange?

Very,

Granny said,

Smiling,

But you be sure to be a nice child this afternoon,

No matter what that wan says to you.

Granny always referred to Laura as that wan.

Oh,

Yes,

I'll be good,

Granny.

Isn't it funny?

Maeda 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,

I'd die before I'd let her know it.

Laura was waiting for her on the piazza when Maeda 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 a while.

She took Maeda immediately upstairs to her bedroom,

A large room all furnished in blue.

Blue paper,

Blue bureau scarf covered with lace,

Blue bedspread covered with lace,

A big round blue roller where the pillow should be.

How do you like my room,

Maeda?

It's very pretty.

This is my toilet set,

Laura pointed to the glittering articles on the bureau.

Papa's given them to me,

One piece at a time.

It's all of silver,

And everything has my initials on it.

What is yours set of?

Laura paused before she asked this last question,

And darted one of her sideways looks at Maeda.

She thinks I haven't any toilet set,

And she wants to make me say so,

Maeda thought.

Ivory,

She said aloud.

Ivory?

I shouldn't think that would be very pretty.

Laura opened her bureau drawers one at a time,

And showed Maeda 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 steadying the effect on Maeda.

But Maeda's face betrayed none of the wonder and envy that Laura's evidently expected.

Maeda was very polite,

But it was evident that she was not much interested.

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.

Oh,

What a darling dollhouse,

Maeda exclaimed,

Pausing before the miniature mansion,

Very elegantly furnished.

Oh,

Do you like it?

Laura beamed with pride.

I just love it,

Particularly because it's so little.

Little?

Laura bristled.

I don't think it's so very little.

It's the biggest dollhouse I ever saw.

Did you ever see a bigger one?

Maeda looked embarrassed.

Only one?

Whose was it?

It was the one my father had built for me at Prides.

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,

Maeda went on truthfully.

I think it's very strange,

But somehow,

The smaller things are,

The better I like them.

I guess it's because I've seen so many big things.

Laura looked impressed and puzzled at the same time.

And you could really walk up the stairs?

Let's go up in the cupola,

She suggested,

After an uncertain interval in which she seemed to think of nothing else to show.

The stairs at the end of the playroom led into the cupola.

Maeda exclaimed with delight over the view which she saw from the windows.

On one side was the river with the drawbridge,

The navy yard and the monument on Bunker Hill.

On the other stretched the smoky expanse of Boston,

With the golden dome of the statehouse gleaming in the midst of a huge red brick huddle.

Did you have a cupola at Pride's Crossing?

Laura asked triumphantly.

Oh no,

How I wish I had.

Laura beamed again.

Laura likes to have things other people haven't,

Maeda thought.

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 Maeda liked best of all,

Because there were so many books and.

.

.

Oh,

Oh,

She exclaimed,

Stopping before one of the pictures.

That's Santa Maria and Kosmodin.

I haven't seen that since I left Rome.

How long did you stay in Rome,

Little girl?

A voice asked back of her.

Maeda turned.

Mrs.

Lathrop had come into the room.

Maeda arose immediately from her chair.

We stayed in Rome two months,

She said.

Indeed,

And where else did you go?

London,

Paris,

Florence,

And Venice.

Do you know these other pictures?

Mrs.

Lathrop asked.

I've been collecting photographs of Italian churches.

Maeda 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 Day.

One was all covered with red garlands and the other 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 Balute instead of Salute because it's all covered with volutes.

Maeda smiled suddenly into Mrs.

Lathrop's face as if expecting sympathy with this architectural joke.

But Mrs.

Lathrop did not smile.

She looked a little staggered.

She studied Maeda for a long time with her shrewd,

Light eyes.

Whose family did you travel with?

She asked at last.

Maeda felt a little embarrassed.

If Mrs.

Lathrop asked her certain questions,

It would place her in a very uncomfortable position.

On the one hand,

Maeda could not tell a lie.

On the other,

Her father had told her to tell nobody that he was his daughter.

The family of Mr.

Jerome Westerbrook,

She said at last.

Oh,

It was the oh of a person who is much impressed.

Buffalo Westerbrook?

Mrs.

Lathrop asked.

Yes.

Did your grandmother,

Mrs.

Flynn,

Go with you?

Yes.

Mrs.

Lathrop continued to look very hard at Maeda.

Her eyes wandered over the little blue frock,

Simple but of the best materials,

Over the white tire of a delicate plaited nansook trimmed with Valencienne lace,

The string of blue Venetian beads,

The soft,

Carefully fitted shoes.

Mr.

Westerbrook has a little girl,

Hasn't he?

Mrs.

Lathrop said.

Maeda felt extremely uncomfortable now,

But she looked Mrs.

Lathrop straight in the eye.

Yes,

She answered.

About your age?

Yes.

She is an invalid,

Isn't she?

She was,

Maeda said with emphasis.

Mrs.

Lathrop did not ask any more questions.

She went presently into the back library.

An old gentleman sat there reading.

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 Buffalo Westerbrook's family,

For they traveled abroad a year with the Westerbrook family.

They gave her all the little Westerbrook 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.

The two little girls returned after a while to the playroom.

How would you like to have me dance for you,

Laura asked abruptly.

You know I take fancy dancing.

Oh,

Laura,

Maeda said delightedly.

Will you?

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.

Maeda 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 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.

Oh,

Laura,

How lovely you do look,

Maeda said.

I think you're perfectly beautiful.

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.

Maeda could have watched her forever.

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.

Maeda discovered that she carried tiny wooden clappers.

Whenever her heels came together,

A pretty musical clink came from them.

Maeda discovered that on her shoes were tiny metal plates.

Once again Laura went out.

This time she returned dressed like a little sailor boy.

She danced a gay little hornpipe.

I never saw anything so marvelous in my life,

Maeda 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?

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.

This was the first illusion that had been made in Primrose Court to Maeda'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!

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 maypole?

Oh,

Yes,

Maeda said.

My birthday comes on May Day,

And last year Father gave me a party.

He had a maypole set up on the lawn and all the children danced about it.

My birthday comes in the summer,

Too.

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?

We sent out over four hundred invitations,

I believe.

But not quite four hundred accepted.

Four hundred,

Laura repeated.

Goodness,

What could so many children do?

Oh,

There were all sorts of things for them to do,

Maeda 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 theatre.

I can't remember everything.

Laura's eyes had grown very big.

Didn't you have a perfectly splendiferous time,

She asked.

No,

Not particularly,

Maeda 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 Dickie and Rosie and the court children.

Goodness,

Was all Laura could say for a moment.

But finally she added,

I don't believe that,

Maeda.

Maeda 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.

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.

Mother,

Laura said after Maeda had gone.

Maeda Flynn told me that her father gave her a birthday party last year and invited 500 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?

Mrs.

Lathrop said her lips firmly.

No,

I think it is probably not true.

I think you'd better not play with the little Flynn girl anymore.

The next afternoon Maeda went as she had promised to see Dickie.

She could see at a glance that Mrs.

Dorr 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.

Dickie,

How do you manage to keep so clean here?

Maeda asked in genuine wonder.

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.

Maeda guessed that Dickie was making one of the Irish stews that were his specialty.

See that little truck over there?

Dickie 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.

Arthur must be a very clever boy,

Maeda said thoughtfully.

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 dishrag and that dish mop.

A sleepy cry came from the corner.

Dickie 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.

Go!

The baby crept across the room so fast that Maeda 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.

Can't leave the thing round where she is,

Dickie said proudly,

As if this were the best thing he could say about her.

Have to put my work away the moment she wakes up.

Isn't she a buster,

Though?

I should say she was,

And indeed,

The baby was as fat as a little partridge.

Maeda wondered how Dickie could lift her.

Also,

Delia was as healthy-looking as Dickie 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.

Is she named after your mother?

Maeda asked.

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 pen in this room would be on the floor in a jiffy,

And she tears everything she puts her hands on.

Granny must see her sometime.

Granny's name is Delia.

Hey,

Stop that,

Dickie called.

For Delia had discovered the little bundle that Maeda had placed on a chair,

And was busy trying to tear it open.

Let her open it,

Maeda said.

I brought it for her.

They watched.

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.

Say thank you,

Maeda,

Dickie prompted.

Delia said something,

And Dickie assured her that the baby had obeyed him.

It sounded like,

Thank you,

Maesa.

While Delia occupied herself with the dolls,

Maeda listened to Dickie's reading lesson.

He was getting on beautifully now.

At least he could puzzle out by himself some of the stories that Maeda lent him.

When they had finished that day's fairy tale,

Dickie said,

Did you ever see a peacock,

Maeda?

Oh,

Yes,

A great many.

Where?

I saw ever so many in the Jardin des Plantes in Paris,

And then my father has some in his camp in the Adirondacks.

Has he many?

A dozen.

I'm just wild to see one.

Are they as beautiful as that picture in the fairy tale?

They're as beautiful as… as… Maeda groped about in her mind to find something to compare them to.

As angels,

She said at last.

And do they really open their tails like a fan?

That is the most wonderful sight,

Dickie,

That you ever saw.

Maeda'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,

It makes you ache.

I cried 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.

White peacocks?

I never heard of white ones.

They're not common.

Think of seeing a dozen peacocks every day,

Dickie exclaimed.

Jiminy crickets.

Why,

Maeda,

Your life must have been just like a fairy tale when you lived there.

It seems more like a fairy tale here.

They laughed at this difference of opinion.

Dickie,

Maeda asked suddenly,

Do you know that Rosie steals out of her window at night sometimes when her mother doesn't know it?

Sure,

I know that.

You see,

He went 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 someday.

And by George,

I bet she'll do it.

She always does what she says she'll do.

Isn't it dreadful?

Maeda 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.

I don't know what I would do without my mother,

Dickie said thoughtfully.

But then I've got the best mother there 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.

When Maeda got home that night,

Billy Potter sat with Granny in the living room.

Maeda came in so quietly that they took no notice of her.

Granny was talking.

Maeda could see that the tears were coursing down the wrinkles in her cheeks.

And after that,

The poor child ran away to America,

And I never have seen her since.

Her father died,

Repenting of his anger against her.

But it was too late.

At last,

In my old age,

I came over to America,

Hoping I could find her.

But glory be,

I had no idea this was such a big place.

And I've hunted,

And I've hunted,

And I've hunted,

But never a track of her could I find.

My little Annie.

Billy's face was all screwed up,

But it was not with laughter.

Did you ever speak to Mr.

Westerbrook about it?

Oh,

Mr.

Westerbrook did everything he could,

That fine man that he is.

Advertisements and detectives.

But with all his money,

He couldn't find her.

But with all his money,

He couldn't find out a thing.

If it wasn't for my blessed lamb,

I'd pray to the saints to let me die.

Maeda knew what they were talking about.

Granny had often told her the sad story of her lost daughter.

What town in Ireland did you live in,

Granny?

Billy asked.

Aldegary,

County Sligo.

Now don't you get discouraged,

Granny,

Billy said.

I'm going to find your daughter for you.

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 20 years.

Oh,

Billy,

Do,

Please do,

Maeda burst in.

It will make Granny so happy.

Granny seemed happier already.

She dried her tears.

You're a good boy,

Mr.

Billy,

She said gratefully.

And as this story now comes to an end,

Your journey towards restful sleep now begins.

You can enjoy this moment of quiet and peace before drifting off.

And as you do,

A feeling of deep rest and relaxation naturally flows through you,

Because your mind is much more quiet and still now.

It feels so much easier to let go and give way to this sleepy feeling.

In fact,

With each breath you take,

It gets easier and easier.

I'm just resting here,

Resting and enjoying this pleasant feeling of sleepy relaxation.

Just let it wrap around you like a cozy blanket.

And you feel so safe,

Resting and relaxing here in your bed.

It just feels amazing to let go.

To let go of the day.

To let go of thoughts.

To let go of tension.

And allowing yourself to just drift.

Drifting down,

Deeper and deeper down into that slow brainwave state.

That leads to restful sleep.

That's right.

Slower and slower.

Deeper and deeper.

Relaxing and letting go.

And so in your own time and in your own way,

You can drift off into a restful,

Sound sleep while enjoying a full night's rest.

And you'll awaken feeling refreshed and wonderful in every way.

Sweet dreams my friend.

Sleep well.

Good night.