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The thought of it colored Maida’s dreams. “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.” Two or three days passed. Sometimes Laura was better. Oftener she was worse. Dr.
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.
Every day brought more and more workmen and the more there were, the harder they worked. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, all the work stopped. 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: MAIDA’S LITTLE SHOP
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 that line of children every morning and afternoon of my life and wish and wish 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.”
And when at seven, Rosie appeared, Maida’s cup of happiness brimmed over. While Billy talked with Granny, the two little girls rearranged the stock. “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.
Westabrook bent on the Robin the most amused of his smiles. “Yes,” he said. “And an automobile?” Tim asked. Mr. Westabrook turned to the Bogle. “Yes,” he said, a little puzzled. “And did Maida’s mother have a gold brush with her initials in diamonds on it?” Rosie asked. Mr. Westabrook roared. “Yes,” he said. “And have you got twelve peacocks, two of them white?” Arthur asked. “Yes.”
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 selected was of gray and brown fur. It was Maida’s opinion that it was sable and chinchilla mixed.
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 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. “I’d like a sheet of red tissue paper,” he said briskly. Maida’s happy expression changed.
Then, “I guess Maida’s got the star all right,” Dicky said. 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.
I’m sure you can if you try hard.” 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.
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