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?” Maida asked.

“Pickled limes,” Dr. Pierce responded promptly. “How I used to love
them!”

“Oh, father, buy me a pickled lime,” Maida pleaded. “I never had one
in my life and I’ve been crazy to taste one ever since I read
‘Little Women.’”

“All right,” Mr. Westabrook said. “Let’s come in and treat Maida 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 Maida. After a while she saw that its two windows gave it
light enough but that it was very confused, cluttery and dusty.

Mr. Westabrook 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,” Maida said after they had started for
Boston. “What a funny little place that was! Oh, how I would like to