Maida's Little Shop (Chapter 1 & 2)

Tonight you can relax and unwind to a couple of chapters of this heartwarming childhood storybook called 'Maida's Little Shop' by Inez Haynes Irwin. This sweet story is about a little girl named Maida who is sickly and lame. Her father is well known to be one of the wealthiest men in America. He decides to buy her a little shop in Charlestown Massachusetts, to give her a purpose and to help restore her health.

However, this little shop comes with one condition, it is that Maida does not tell anyone who she is or who her father is. For the first time in her life...Maida makes wonderful new friends because they think she is just an ordinary girl.

I hope you enjoy the super relaxing storytelling! May it bring you a peaceful night's rest!
Sweet dreams!

Transcript

Meda's Little Shop is the first book of the Meda Westerbrook series by Enis Haynes Erwin that features a little girl named Meda who is sickly and lame.

Meda is the daughter to Jerome Buffalo Westerbrook,

A well-known,

Successful Wall Street businessman.

He decides to buy Meda a little shop in Charleston,

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

But her father has only one condition,

That she not tell anyone who she is or who her father is.

And for the first time in her life,

Meda finds true happiness living in an ordinary neighborhood and making friends with ordinary children.

And so,

As always my friend,

Settling comfortably under the covers,

Take a full,

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 else to do and nowhere else to be.

So just lay back,

Relax,

And enjoy the story.

Chapter One,

The Ride Four people sat in the big,

Shining automobile.

Three of them were men,

The fourth was a little girl.

The little girl's name was Meda Westerbrook.

The three men were Buffalo Westerbrook,

Her father,

Dr.

Pierce,

Her physician,

And Billy Potter,

Her friend.

They were coming from Marblehead to Boston.

Meda sat in one corner of the back seat,

Gazing dreamily out at the whirling country.

She found it very beautiful and very curious.

They were going so fast that all the reds and greens and yellows of the autumn leaves melted into one variegated band.

A moment later,

They came out on the ocean,

And now on the water side were two other streaks of color.

One a spongy blue that was sky,

Another a clear shining blue that was sea.

Meda half shut her eyes and the whole world seemed to flash by in ribbons.

May I get out for a moment,

Papa?

She asked suddenly in a thin little voice.

I'd like to watch the waves.

All right,

Her father answered briskly.

To the chauffeur,

He said,

Stop here,

Henry.

To Meda,

Stay as long as you want,

Posy.

Posy was Mr.

Westerbrook's pet name for Meda.

Billy Potter jumped out and helped Meda to the ground.

The three men watched her limp to the seawall.

She was a child whom you would have noticed anywhere because of her luminous strangely quiet grey eyes and because of the ethereal look given to her face by a floating mass of hair,

Pale gold and tenderly.

And yet I think you would have known that she was a sick little girl at first glance.

When she moved,

It was with a great slowness as if everything tired her.

She was so thin that her hands were like claws and her cheeks scooped in instead of out.

She was pale,

Too,

And somehow her eyes looked too big.

Perhaps this was because 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 quick about it.

Just what Grindschmidt feared has come.

The languor,

The lack of interest in everything.

You've got to find something for her to do.

Dr.

Pierce spoke seriously.

He was a round,

Short man,

Just exactly as long any one way as any other.

He had springy grey curls all over his head and a nose like a button.

Meda thought that he looked like a very old but very jolly and lovable baby.

When he laughed,

And he was always laughing with Meda,

He shook all over like jelly that has been turned out of a jar.

His very curls bobbed,

But it seemed to Meda that no matter how hard he chuckled,

His eyes were always serious when they rested on her.

Meda 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 her health ever since Dr.

Grindschmidt left.

Dr.

Grindschmidt was the great physician who had come all the way across the ocean from Germany to make Meda well.

Before the operation,

Meda could not walk.

Now she could walk easily.

Ever since she could remember,

She had always added to her prayers at night a special request that she might someday be like other little girls.

Now she was like other little girls,

Except that she limped.

And yet now that she could do all the things that other little girls did,

She no longer cared to do them.

Not even hopping and skipping,

Which she had always expected would be the greatest fun in the world.

Meda herself thought this was very strange.

But what can I find her to do?

Buffalo Westabrook said.

You could tell from the way he asked this question that he was not accustomed to take advice from other people.

Indeed,

He did not look it,

But he looked his name.

You would know at once why the cartoonists always represented him with the head of a buffalo.

Why,

Gradually,

People had forgotten that his first name was Jerome and referred to him always as Buffalo Westabrook.

Like the buffalo,

His head was big and powerful and emerged from the midst of a shaggy mane.

But it was the way in which it was set on his tremendous shoulders that gave him his nickname.

When he spoke to you,

He looked as if he were about to charge,

And the glance of his eyes set far back of a huge nose cut through you like a pair of knives.

It surprised Meda very much when she found that people stood in awe of her father.

It had never occurred to her to be afraid of him.

I've racked my brains to entertain her,

Buffalo Westabrook went on.

I've bought her every gym crack that's made for children.

Her nursery looks like a toy factory.

I've bought her prized ponies,

Prized dogs and prized cats,

Rabbits,

Guinea pigs,

Dancing mice,

Talking parrots,

Marmosets,

There's a young menagerie at the place in the Adirondacks.

I've had a dollhouse and a little theater built for her at prides.

She has her own carriage,

Her own automobile,

Her own railroad car.

She can have her own flying machine if she wants it.

I've taken her off on trips,

I've taken her to the theater and the circus.

I've had all kinds of nurses and governesses and companions,

But they've been mostly failures.

Granny Flynn's the best of the hired people,

But of course,

Granny's old.

I've had other children come to stay with her,

Selfish little brutes they all turned out to be.

They'd play with her toys and ignore her completely.

And this fall,

I brought her to Boston,

Hoping her cousins would rouse her,

But the Fairfaxes decided suddenly to go abroad 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.

Hey Billy,

You're an observant little duck.

Can't you tell us what's the matter?

Buffalo Westbrook 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.

Petranilla is as simple as a princess in a fairy tale.

Petranilla was Billy Potter's pet name for Maida.

Yes,

She's wonderfully simple,

Dr.

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 Westbrook growled.

What has imagination to do with it?

Billy grinned.

Next to her father and Granny Flynn,

Maida loved Billy Potter better than anybody in the world.

He was so little that she could never decide whether he was a boy or a man.

His chubby,

Dimply face was the pinkest she'd ever seen.

From it twinkled a pair of blue eyes the merriest she'd ever seen.

And falling continually down into his eyes was a great mass of flaxen hair,

The most tousled she'd ever seen.

Billy Potter lived in New York.

He earned his living by writing for newspapers and magazines.

Whenever there was a fuss in Wall Street,

And the papers always blamed Buffalo Westbrook if this happened,

Billy Potter would have a talk with Maida's father.

Then he wrote up what Mr.

Westbrook said and it was printed somewhere.

Men who wrote for the newspapers were always trying to talk with Mr.

Westbrook.

Few of them ever got the chance.

But Buffalo Westbrook never refused to talk with Billy Potter.

Indeed,

The two men were great friends.

He's one of the few reporters who could turn out a good story and tell it straight as I give it to him,

Maida had once heard her father say.

Maida knew that Billy could turn out good stories.

He had turned out a great many for her.

What has imagination to do with it,

Mr.

Westbrook repeated.

It would have a great deal to do with it,

I fancy,

Billy Potter answered,

If somebody would only imagine the right thing.

Well,

Imagine it yourself,

Mr.

Westbrook snarled.

Imagination seems to be the chief stock and trade of you newspaper men.

Billy grinned.

When Billy smiled,

Two things happened,

One to you and the other to him.

Your spirits went up and his eyes seemed to disappear.

Maida said that Billy's eyes crinkled up.

The effect was so comic that she always laughed,

Not with him,

But at him.

All right,

Billy agreed pleasantly,

I'll put the greatest creative mind of the century to work on the job.

You put it to work at once,

Young man,

Dr.

Pierce said.

The thing I'm trying to impress on you both is that you can't wait too long.

Buffalo Westbrook stirred uneasily.

His fierce blue eyes retreated behind the frown in his thick brows until all you could see were two shining points.

He watched Maida closely as she limped back to the car.

What are you thinking of,

Posy?

He asked.

Oh,

Nothing,

Father,

Maida said,

Smiling faintly.

This was the answer she gave most often to her father's questions.

Is there anything you want,

Posy?

He was sure to ask every morning,

Or what would you like me to get you today,

Little daughter?

The answer was invariable,

Given always in the same soft,

Thin little voice.

Nothing father,

Thank you.

Where are we now,

Jerome,

Dr.

Pierce asked suddenly.

Mr.

Westbrook looked about him,

Getting towards Revere.

Let's go home through Charleston,

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,

Pink Wink.

Pink Wink was Dr.

Pierce's pet name for Maida.

Oh,

I'd love to see it.

A little thrill of pleasure sparkled in Maida's flat tones.

Dr.

Pierce gave some directions to the chauffeur.

For fifteen minutes or more,

The men talked business.

They had come away from the sea and the streams of yellow and red and green trees.

Maida pillowed her head on the cushions and stared fixedly at the passing trees,

But her little face wore a dreamy,

Withdrawn look as if she were seeing something very far away.

Whenever Buffalo Westbrook's glance shot her way,

His thick brows pulled together into the frown that most people dreaded to face.

Now down the hill and then to the left,

Dr.

Pierce instructed Henry.

Warrington Street was wide and old-fashioned.

Big elms marching in a double file between the fine old houses met in an arch above their roofs.

At intervals along the curbstones were hitching posts of iron,

Most of them supporting the head of a horse with a ring in his nose.

Beside these hitching posts were rectangular blocks of granite,

Stepping stones for horseback riders and carriage folk.

There,

Pink Wink,

Dr.

Pierce said,

That old house on the corner.

Stop here,

Henry,

Please.

That's where I was brought up.

The old swing used to hang from that tree,

And it was from that big bough stretching over the fence that I fell and broke my arm.

Meda's eyes brightened.

And there's the garret window where the squirrels 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 street has grown.

Even the trees aren't as tall as they should be.

Meda stared.

The trees looked very high indeed to her,

And she thought the street quite wide enough for anybody.

The house is very stately.

Now show me the school,

She begged.

Just a block or two,

Henry,

Dr.

Pierce directed.

The car stopped in front of a low,

Rambling wooden building with a yard in front.

That's where you covered the ceiling with spitballs,

Meda asked.

The same,

Dr.

Pierce laughed heartily at the remembrance.

It seemed to Meda that she had never seen his colonel's bob quite so furiously before.

It's one of the few wooden primary buildings left in the city,

He explained to the two men.

It can't last many years now.

It's nothing but a rat trap,

But how I shall hate to see it go.

Beneath the school was a big,

Wide court,

Shaded with beautiful trees,

Maples beginning to flame,

Horse chestnuts a little brown.

It was lined with wooden toy houses set back of fenced-in yards unveiled by climbing vines.

Pigeons were flying about,

Alighting now and then to peck at the ground or to preen their green and purple necks.

Boys were spinning tops,

Girls were jumping rope.

As she stared,

Charmed with the picture,

A little girl in a scarlet cape and 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,

Maeda repeated,

Do primroses grow there?

Bless your heart,

No,

Dr.

Pierce laughed.

It was named after a man called Primrose,

Who used to own a great deal of the neighborhood.

But Maeda was scarcely listening.

Oh,

What a cunning little shop,

She exclaimed.

There,

Opposite the court,

What a perfectly darling little place.

Good lord,

That's Connors,

Dr.

Pierce exclaimed.

Many a reckless penny have 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 the window to take a paper doll from the dusty display there.

What are those yellow things in that glass jar,

Maeda asked.

Pickled limes,

Dr.

Pierce responded promptly.

How I used to love them.

Oh,

Father,

Buy me a pickled lime,

Maeda pleaded.

I've never had one in my life,

And I've been crazy to taste one ever since I read Little Women.

All right,

Mr.

Westbrook said,

Let's come in and treat Maeda to a pickled lime.

A bell rang discordantly as they opened the door.

Its prolonged clangor finally brought the old lady from the room at the back.

She looked in surprise at the three men in their automobile coats and at the little lame girl.

Coming in from the bright sunshine,

The shop seemed unpleasantly dark to Maeda.

After a while,

She saw that its two windows gave it light enough,

But that it was very confused,

Cluttery,

And dusty.

Mr.

Westbrook bought four pickled limes,

And everybody ate,

Three of them with enjoyment.

Billy with many wry faces and a decided stung after the first taste.

I like pickled limes,

Maeda said after they had started for Boston.

What a funny little place that was.

Oh,

How I would like to keep a little shop just like it.

Billy Potter started.

For a moment,

It seemed as if he were about to speak,

But instead,

He stared hard at Maeda,

Falling gradually into a brown study.

From time to time,

He came out of it long enough to look sharply at her.

The sparkle had all gone out of her face.

She was pale and dream-absorbed again.

Her father studied her with increasing anxiety as they neared the big house on Beacon Street.

Dr.

Pierce's face was shadowed,

Too.

Eureka!

I found it,

Billy exclaimed as they swept past the state house.

I've got it,

Mr.

Westbrook.

Got what?

Billy did not answer at once.

The automobile had stopped in front of a big red brick house.

Over the beautifully fluted columns that held up the porch hung a brilliant red vine.

Lavender-colored glass here and there in the windows made purple patches on the lace of the curtains.

Got what?

Mr.

Westbrook repeated impatiently.

Billy did not answer at once.

That little job of the imagination that you put me on a few minutes ago,

Billy answered mysteriously.

In a moment,

He added with a significant look at Maeda.

You stay,

Too,

Dr.

Pierce.

I want your approval.

The door of the beautiful old house had opened,

And a man in livery came out to assist Maeda.

On the threshold stood an old,

Silver-haired woman in a black silk gown,

A white cap and apron,

A little black shawl pinned about her shoulders.

How's my lamb?

She asked tenderly of Maeda.

Oh,

Pretty well,

Maeda said Dully.

Oh,

Granny,

She added with a sudden flare of enthusiasm.

I saw the sweetest little shop.

I think I'd rather tend shop than do anything else in the world.

Billy Potter smiled all over his pink face.

He followed Mr.

Westbrook and Dr.

Pierce into the drawing room.

Maeda went upstairs with Granny Flynn.

Granny Flynn had come straight to the Westbrook house from the boat that brought her from Ireland years ago.

She had come to America in search of her runaway daughter,

But she had never found her.

She had helped to nurse Maeda's mother in the illness of which she died,

And she had always taken care of Maeda herself,

That Maeda loved her dearly.

Sometimes,

When they were alone,

Maeda would call her Dame,

Because she said,

Granny looks just like the Dame who comes into fairy tales.

Granny Flynn was very little,

Very bent,

Very old.

A thousand and nine,

Sure,

She always answered when Maeda asked her how old.

Her skin had cracked into a hundred wrinkles,

And her long sharp nose and her short sharp chin almost met.

But the wrinkles surrounded a pair of eyes that were a twinkly,

Youthful blue,

And her Her downturned nose and upgrowing chin could not conceal or mar the lovely sweetness of her smile.

Just before Maeda went to bed that night,

She was surprised by a visit from her father.

Posey,

He said,

Sitting down on her bed.

Did you really mean it today,

When you said you would like to keep a little shop?

Oh,

Yes,

Father.

I've been thinking it over ever since I came home from a ride this afternoon.

A little shop,

You know,

Just like the one we saw today.

Very well,

Dear.

You shall keep a shop.

You shall keep that very one.

I'm going to buy out the business for you and 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.

Maeda 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 peeled 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,

Posy.

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,

Maeda suggested.

If you wish,

Billy Potter's going to stay here in Boston and help you.

You're to call on him,

Posy,

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,

I'm so happy,

Does Granny know?

Yes.

Maeda heaved an ecstatic sigh.

I'm afraid I shan't get to sleep tonight just thinking of it.

But she did sleep,

And very hard,

The best sleep she had known since her operation,

And 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.

The people on Warrington Street were surprised to learn in the course of a few days that old Mrs.

Murdoch had sold out her business in the little corner store.

For over a week,

The little place was shut up.

The schoolchildren 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 woke 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 sky blue.

It read,

Mada's Little Shop.

Chapter 2.

Cleaning Up The next two weeks were the busiest Mada ever knew.

In the first place,

She must see Mrs.

Murdoch and talk things over.

In the second place,

She must examine all the stock that Mrs.

Murdoch 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.

Murdoch called,

At Billy's request,

At his rooms on Mount Vernon Street.

Granny and Mada were there to meet her.

Mrs.

Murdoch was a tall,

Thin,

Erect old lady.

Her bright black eyes were piercing enough,

But it seemed to Mada 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 coming even though I ain't there.

They'll sell you your candy,

Pickles,

Pickled limes,

And all such stuff.

You'll have to buy your toys in Boston.

Your paper,

Pens,

Pencils,

Rubbers,

And the like also,

But not at the same places where you get the toys.

I've put all the addresses down on the list.

I don't see how you can make any mistakes.

How long will it take you to get out of the shop,

Billy asked.

Mada knew that Billy enjoyed Mrs.

Murdoch,

For often,

When he looked at that lady,

His eyes crinkled up,

Although there was not a smile on his face.

A week is all I need,

Mrs.

Murdoch declared.

If it weren't for other folks who are keeping me waiting,

I'd have that whole place fixed as clean as a whistle in two shakes of a lamb's tail.

Now I'll put a price on everything,

So you won't be bothered what to charge.

There's some things I don't ever get,

Because folks buy too many of them,

And it's such an everlasting bother keeping them in stock.

But you're young and spry,

And maybe you won't mind jumping about for every Tom,

Dick,

And Harry.

But remember,

She added in parting,

Don't get expensive things.

Folks in that neighborhood ain't got no money to fool away.

Get as many things as you can for a cent apiece.

Get some for five and less for ten,

And nothing over a quarter.

But you must also calculate to buy some things to lose money on.

I mean the truck you put in the window just to make folks look in.

It gets dusty and flyspecked before you know it,

And there's an end on it.

I also send them to the home for little wanderers at Christmastime.

Early one morning a week later,

A party of three,

Granny Flynn,

Billy,

And Maida walked up Beacon Street and across the common to the subway.

Maida had never walked so far in her life,

But her father had told her that if she wanted to keep the shop,

She must give up her carriage and her automobile.

That was not hard.

She was willing to give up anything that she owned for the little shop.

They left the car at City Square in Charleston and walked the rest of the way.

It was Saturday,

A brilliant morning in a beautiful autumn.

All the children in the neighborhood were out playing.

Maida looked at each one of them as she passed.

They seemed as wonderful as fairy beings to her,

For would they not all be her customers soon?

And yet,

Such was her excitement,

She could not remember one face after she had passed it.

A single picture remained in her mind.

A picture of a little girl standing alone in the middle of the court.

Black-haired,

Black-eyed,

A vivid spot of color in a scarlet cape and a scarlet hat.

The child was scattering breadcrumbs to a flock of pigeons.

The pigeons did not seem afraid of her.

They flew close to her feet.

One even alighted on her shoulder.

It makes me think of St.

Mark's in Venice,

Maida said to Billy.

Maida,

Little girl,

Scarlet cape,

Flocks of doves,

St.

Mark's,

All went out of her head entirely when she unlocked the door of the little shop.

Oh,

Oh,

She cried,

How nice and clean it looks.

The shop seemed even larger than she remembered.

The confused,

Dusty,

Cluttery look had gone,

But with its dull paint and its blackened ceiling,

It still seemed dark and dingy.

Maida ran behind the counter,

Peeped into the showcases,

Poked her head into the window,

Drew out the drawers that lined the wall,

Pulled covers from the boxes on the shelves.

There is no knowing where her investigations would have ended if Billy had not said.

See here,

Mrs.

Curiosity,

We can't put in the whole morning on the shop.

This is a preliminary tour of investigation.

Come and see the rest of it.

This way to the living room.

The living room led from the shop,

A big square room,

Empty now,

Of course.

Maida limped over to the window.

Oh,

She cried,

Did you ever see such a darling little yard?

It surely is little,

Billy agreed.

Not much bigger than a pocket handkerchief,

Is it?

And yet,

Scrap of a place as the yard was,

It had an air of completeness,

A pretty quaintness.

Two tiny brick walks curved from the door to the gate.

On either side of these spread out microscopic flower beds,

Crowded tight with plants.

Late-blooming dahlias and asters made spots of starry color in the green.

A vine running over the door to the second story waved like a crimson banner dropped from the window.

The old lady must have been fond of flowers,

Billy Potter said.

He squinted his near-sighted blue eyes and studied the bunches of green.

Syringa bush in one corner,

Lilac bush in the other,

Nasturtiums at the edges,

Morning glories running up the fence,

Sunflowers in between.

My,

Won't it be fun to see them all racing up in the spring?

Maida jumped up and down at the thought.

She could not jump like other children.

Indeed,

This was the first time that she'd ever tried.

It was as if her feet were like flat irons.

Granny Flynn turned quickly away and Billy bit his lips.

I know just how I'm going to fix this room up for you,

Petronella,

Billy said,

Nodding his head mysteriously.

Now let's go into the kitchen.

The kitchen led from the living room.

Billy exclaimed when he saw it,

And Maida shook her hands,

But it was Granny who actually screamed with delight.

Much bigger than the living room,

It had four windows with sunshine pouring in through every one of them.

But it was not the four windows,

Nor yet the sunshine,

That made the sensation.

It was the stone floor.

We'll put a carpet on it if you think it's too cold,

Granny,

Billy suggested immediately.

Oh,

Have it be,

Mr.

Billy,

Granny begged,

Tis like my old home in Ireland.

All right,

Billy agreed cheerfully.

What you say goes,

Granny.

Now upstairs to the sleeping rooms.

To get to the second floor,

They climbed a little stairway not more than three feet wide,

With steps very high,

Most of them triangular in shape because the stairway had to turn so often.

And upstairs,

After they got there,

Consisted of three rooms,

Two big and square and light and one smaller and darker.

The small room is to be made into a bathroom,

Billy explained,

And these two big ones are to be your bedrooms.

Which one will you have,

Meda?

Meda examined both rooms carefully.

Well,

I don't care for myself which I have,

She said,

But it does seem as if there were a teeny-weeny more sun in this one.

I think Granny ought to have it,

For she loves the sunshine on her old bones.

You know,

Billy,

Granny and I have the greatest fun about our bones.

Hers are all wrong because they're so old,

And mine are all wrong because they're so young.

All right,

Billy agreed,

Sunshiny one for Granny,

Shady one for you,

That's settled.

I hope you realize,

Miss Meda,

Elizabeth,

Fairfax,

Petranilla,

Pinkwink,

Posey,

Westerbrook,

What perfectly bully rooms these are.

They're as old as Noah.

I'm glad they're old,

Meda said,

But of course they must be.

This house was here when Dr.

Pierce was a little boy,

And that must have been a long,

Long time ago.

Just look at the floors,

Billy went on admiringly.

See how uneven they are?

You'll have to walk straight here,

Petranilla,

To keep from falling down.

That old wooden wainscoting is simply charming.

That's a nice old fireplace,

Too.

And these old doors are perfect.

Granny Flynn was working the latch of one of the old doors with her wrinkled hands.

Many's the time I've snibbed a latch like that in Ireland,

She said,

And she smiled so hard that her very wrinkles seemed to twinkle.

And look at the windows,

Granny,

Billy said,

Sixteen panes of glass each.

I hope you'll make Petranilla wash them.

Oh,

Granny,

Will you let me wash the windows?

Meda asked ecstatically.

When you're grand and strong,

Granny promised.

I know just how I'll furnish the room,

Billy said,

Half to himself.

Oh,

Billy,

Tell me,

Meda begged.

Can't,

He protested mischievously.

You've got to wait till it's all finished before you see hide or hair of it.

I know I'll die of curiosity,

Meda 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 Westerbrook,

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,

But Meda recognized the tone that he always employed when he was joking her.

Beside,

His eyes were all sprinkled up.

She did not quite understand what the joke was,

But she smiled back at him.

Now can we look at the things downstairs,

She pleaded.

Yes,

Billy assented.

Today is a very important day.

Behind locked doors and sealed windows,

We're going to take account of stock.

Granny Flynn remained in the bedrooms to make all kinds of mysterious measurements,

To open and shut doors,

To examine closets,

To try window sashes,

Even to poke her head up the chimney.

Downstairs,

Billy and Meda opened boxes and boxes and boxes and drawers and drawers and drawers.

Every one of these had been carefully gone over by the conscientious Mrs.

Murdoch.

Two boxes bulged with toys,

Too broken or soiled to be of any use.

These they threw in the ash barrel at once.

What was left they dumped on the floor.

Meda and Billy sat down beside the heap and examined the things one by one.

Meda had never seen such toys in her life,

So cheap and yet so amusing.

It was hard work to keep to business,

With such enchanting temptation to play all about them.

Billy insisted on spinning every top.

He got five going at once.

On blowing every balloon,

He produced such dreadful wails of agony that Granny came running downstairs in great alarm.

On jumping with every jump rope,

The short ones tripped him up and once he sprawled headlong.

On playing jackstones,

Meda beat him easily at this.

On playing marbles,

With a piece of crayon,

He drew a ring on the floor.

On looking through all the books,

He declared that he was going to buy some little penny pamphlet fairy tales as soon as he could save the money.

But in spite of all this fooling,

They really accomplished a great deal.

They found very few eatables,

Candy,

Fruit,

Or the like.

Mrs.

Murdoch had wisely sold out this perishable stock.

One glass jar,

However,

Was crammed full of what Billy recognized to be bullseyes,

Round lumps of candy as big as plums and as hard as stones.

Billy said he loved bullseyes better than broiled live lobster,

That he had not tasted one since he was half past ten.

For the rest of the day,

One of his cheeks stuck out as if he had a toothache.

They came across all kinds of odds and ends.

Lead pencils,

Blank books,

An old slate pencil wrapped in gold paper which Billy insisted on using to draw pictures on a slate.

He made this squeak so that Meda clapped her hands over her ears.

They found single pieces from sets of miniature furniture,

A great many dolls,

Rag dolls,

China dolls,

Celluloid dolls,

And two old-fashioned waxen darlings whose features had all run together from being left in too great a heat.

They went through all these things,

Sorting them into heaps which they afterwards placed in boxes.

At noon,

Billy went out and bought lunch.

Still squatting on the floor,

The three of them ate sandwiches and drank milk.

Granny said that Meda had never eaten so much at one meal.

All this happened on Saturday.

Meda did not see the little shop again until it was finished.

By Monday,

The place was as busy as a beehive.

Men were putting in a furnace,

Putting in a telephone,

Putting in a bathroom,

Whitening the plaster,

Painting the woodwork.

Finally came two days of waiting for the paint to dry.

Will it ever,

Ever,

Ever dry?

Meda used to ask Billy on the most despairing of voices.

By Thursday,

The rooms were ready for their second coat of paint.

Oh Billy,

Do tell me what color it is.

I can't wait to see it,

Meda begged.

But sky-blue-pink was all she got from Billy.

Saturday,

The furniture came.

In the meantime,

Meda had been going to all the principal wholesale places in Boston,

Picking out new stock.

Granny Flynn accompanied her or stayed at home according to the way she felt,

But Billy never missed a trip.

Meda enjoyed this tremendously,

Although often she had to go to bed before dark.

She said it was the responsibility that tired her.

To Meda,

These big wholesale places seemed like storehouses of Santa Claus.

In reality,

They were great halls,

Lined with parallel rows of counters.

The counters were covered with boxes,

And the boxes were filled with toys.

Along the aisles between the counters moved crowds of buyers,

Busily examining the display.

It was particularly hard for Meda to choose,

Because she was limited by price.

She kept recalling Mrs.

Murdoch's advice,

Get as many things as you can for a cent apiece.

The expensive toys tempted her,

But although she often stopped and looked them wistfully over,

She always ended by going to the cheaper counters.

You ought to be thinking how you'll decorate the windows for your first day's sale,

Billy advised her.

You must make it look as tempting as possible.

I think,

Myself,

It's always a good plan to display the toys that go with the season.

Meda thought of this a great deal after she went to bed at night.

By the end of the week,

She could see in imagination just how her windows were going to look.

Saturday night,

Billy told her that everything was ready,

That she should see the completed house Monday morning.

It seemed to Meda that the Sunday coming in between was the longest day that she'd ever known.

She unlocked the door to the shop the next morning.

She let out a little squeal of joy.

Oh,

I would never know it,

She declared,

How much bigger it looks,

And lighter,

And prettier.

Indeed,

You would never have known the place yourself.

The ceiling had been whitened.

The faded drab woodwork had been painted white.

The walls had been colored a beautiful soft yellow.

Back of the counter,

A series of shelves,

Glassed in by sliding doors,

Ran the whole length of the wall and nearly to the ceiling.

Behind the showcase stood a comfortable,

Cushioned swivel chair.

The stuff you've been buying,

Petronella,

Billy said,

Pointing to a big pile of boxes in the corner.

Now,

While Granny and I are putting some last touches to the room upstairs,

You might be arranging the window.

That's just what I plan to do,

Meda said,

Bubbling with importance.

But you promise not to interrupt me till it's done.

All right,

Billy agreed,

Smiling.

He continued to smile as he opened the boxes.

It did not occur to Meda to ask them what they were going to do upstairs.

It did not occur to her even to go up there.

From time to time,

She heard Granny and Billy laughing.

One of Billy's jokes,

She said to herself.

Once she thought she heard the chirp of a bird,

But she would not leave her work to find out what it was.

When the twelve o'clock whistle blew,

She called to Granny and to Billy to come see the results of her morning's labor.

I say,

Billy emitted a long,

Loud whistle.

Oh,

Do you like it?

Meda asked anxiously.

It's a grand piece of work,

Petranilla,

Billy said heartily.

The window certainly struck the keynote of the season.

Tops of all sizes and colors were arranged in pretty patterns in the middle.

Marbles of all kinds from the ten-for-a-cent peeweezers up to the most beautiful colored agates were displayed at the sides.

Jump ropes of variegated colors with the handles,

Brilliantly painted,

Were festooned at the back.

One of the window shelves had been furnished like a tiny room.

A whole family of dolls sat about on the tiny sofas and chairs.

On the other shelf lay neat piles of blank books and paper blocks,

With files of pens,

Pencils and rubbers arranged in a decorative pattern surrounding them all.

In the showcase,

Fresh candies had been laid out carefully on saucers and platters of glass.

On the counter was a big,

Flowered bowl.

Tomorrow,

I'm going to fill that bowl with asters,

Meda explained.

Oh,

I'm sure the child has done fine,

Granny Flynn said.

I couldn't have done better myself.

Now come and look at your rooms,

Petranilla,

Billy begged,

His eyes dancing.

Meda opened the door,

Leading into the living room.

Then she squealed her delight,

Not once,

But continuously,

Like a very happy little pig.

The room was as changed as if some good fairy had waved a magic wand there.

All the woodwork had turned a glistening white.

The wallpaper blossomed with garlands of red roses,

Tied with snoods of red ribbons.

At each of the three windows waved sash curtains of a snowy muslin.

At each of the three sashes hung a golden cage with a pair of golden canaries in it.

Along each of the three sills marched pots of brilliantly blooming scarlet geraniums.

A fire spluttered and sparkled in the fireplace,

And drawn up in front of it was a big easy chair for Granny,

And a small easy one for Meda.

Familiar things lay about too.

In one corner gleamed the cheerful face of the tall old clock,

Which marked the hours with so silvery a voice,

And the moon changes by such pretty pictures.

In another corner shone the polished surface of a spidery-legged little spinet.

Meda loved both these things almost as much as if they had been human beings,

For her mother and her grandmother and her great-grandmother had loved them before her.

Familiar things caught her eyes everywhere.

Here was a little bookcase with all her favorite books.

There was a desk,

Stocked with business-like-looking blank books.

Even the familiar table with Granny's Book of Saints stood near the easy chair.

Granny's spectacles lay on an open page marking the place.

In the center of the room stood a table set for three.

It's just the dearest place,

Meda said.

Billy,

You've remembered everything.

I thought I heard a bird peep once,

But I was too busy to think about it.

Wanna go upstairs?

Billy asked.

I'd forgotten all about bedrooms.

Meda flew up the stairs as if she had never known a crutch.

The two bedrooms were very simple,

All white woodwork,

Furniture,

Beds,

Even the fur rugs on the floor.

But they were wonderfully gay from the beautiful paper that Billy had selected.

In Granny's room,

The walls imitated a flower chintz.

But in Meda's room,

Every panel was different.

And they all helped to tell the same happy story of a day's hunting in the time when men wore long feathered hats on their curls,

When ladies dressed like pictures,

And all carried falcons on their wrists.

Granny,

Meda called down to them,

Did you ever see any place in all your life that felt so homey?

I guess it will do,

Billy said in an undertone.

That night,

For the first time,

Meda slept in the room over the little shop.

Sweet dreams,

My friend.

Sleep well.

Reviews

Thank you for reading this whole book! It is a charming story.

I am looking forward to hearing more of the story. Thank you.

I literally have no idea what that story was about at all lol! Your voice is so soothing I can’t stay awake 😂
Thank you & we’re all praying for your beautiful daughter 🥰

Thank you for the gift of sleep. Your lovely reading is warmly, gently and thoughtfully done. I fall asleep so soon, that if I ever want to know what happens to Maida, I’ll need to listen in the day with coffee at hand. Peace be with you.

Wonderful story, thank you for choosing to read it! Blessings

Thank you! I really enjoyed what I heard before drifting off. 😊

Definitely do more chapters! 😊

A really enjoyable walk thanks to your lovely storytelling & this tale. Thankyou Joanne ☺🌻🐱🐱🐨from Léna.