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Updated: April 30, 2025
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.” “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?
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 either the value or the worthlessness of things.” “And then,” Billy went on, “nobody’s ever used an ounce of imagination in entertaining the poor child.” “Imagination!” “Buffalo” Westabrook growled. “What has imagination to do with it?” Billy grinned.
We’re going to start for Europe, week after next.” “Oh, papa, papa, how lovely!” Maida said. “Shall we see Venice again? But how can I give up my little shop and my friends?” “Maida going away!” the children exclaimed. “Oh, dear! oh, dear!” “But Mr. Westabrook, isn’t Maida coming back again?” Rosie asked. “How I shall miss her!” Laura chimed in.
“She’s a good deal like Maida,” Billy said, his eyes beginning to “skrinkle up” again. “They could easily pass for sisters.” “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.” “You are quite right, Mrs. Lathrop.
Billy Potter smiled all over his pink face. He followed Mr. Westabrook and Dr. Pierce into the drawing-room. Maida went upstairs with Granny Flynn. Granny Flynn had come straight to the Westabrook house from the boat that brought her from Ireland years ago. She had come to America in search of a runaway daughter but she had never found her.
Westabrook looked about him. “Getting towards Revere.” “Let’s go home through Charlestown,” 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.” “Pinkwink” was Dr. Pierce’s pet-name for Maida.
Can’t you tell us what’s the matter?” “Buffalo” Westabrook smiled down at the third man of the party. “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.” “Petronilla” was Billy Potter’s pet-name for Maida. “Yes, she’s wonderfully simple,” Dr.
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?” “Of course I do, papa. If you need me, I want to.” “Mr. Westabrook,” Molly broke into the conversation determinedly, “did you ever give Maida a pair of Shetland ponies?” Mr.
“I know I’ll die of curiosity,” Maida protested. “But then of course I shall be very busy with my own business.” “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.” Billy spoke so seriously that most little girls would have been awed by his manner.
“I don’t know how I ever managed to get along without one,” Dr. Pierce declared, his curls bobbing. “As for me—I shall probably save about a third of my income in the future,” Billy announced. All three were so pleased that they laughed for a long time. “I’m going to give you another Christmas present, Maida,” Mr. Westabrook said suddenly, “I’m going to give us both one—a vacation.
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