I don’t see how you can make any mistakes.”

“How long will it take you to get out of the shop?” Billy asked.

Maida knew that Billy enjoyed Mrs. Murdock, for often, when he
looked at that lady, his eyes “skrinkled up,” although there was not
a smile on his face.

“A week is all I need,” Mrs. Murdock declared. “If it worn’t for
other folks who are keeping me waiting, I’d have that hull place
fixed as clean as a whistle in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Now I’ll
put a price on everything, so’s you won’t be bothered what to
charge. There’s some things I don’t ever git, because folks buy too
many of them and it’s sich 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 git expensive things. Folks in that neighborhood
ain’t got no money to fool away. Git as many things as you can for a
cent a-piece. Git some for five and less for ten and nothing for
over a quarter. But you must allus callulate to buy some things to
lose money on. I mean the truck you put in the window jess to make
folks look in. It gits dusty and fly-specked before you know it and
there’s an end on it. I allus send them to the Home for Little
Wanderers at Christmas time.”

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