Maidas Little Shop | Page 5

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."
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."
"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 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 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.
"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 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?"
"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 sleep to-night--just thinking of it."
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 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.
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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 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
CHAPTER II
: CLEANING UP
The next two weeks were the busiest Maida ever knew.
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.
First, Mrs. Murdock called, at Billy's request, at his rooms on Mount Vernon Street. Granny and Maida were there to meet her.
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.
"I've made out a list of things for the shop that I'm all out of," she began briskly. "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