wrinkles seemed to twinkle.

“And look at the windows, Granny,” Billy said. “Sixteen panes of
glass each. I hope you’ll make Petronilla wash them.”

“Oh, Granny, will you let me wash the windows?” Maida asked
ecstatically.

“When you’re grand and sthrong,” Granny promised.

“I know just how I’ll furnish the room,” Billy said half to himself.

“Oh, Billy, tell me!” Maida 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,” 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. But Maida recognized the tone that he always employed
when he was joking her. Beside, his eyes were all “skrinkled up.”
She did not quite understand what the joke was, but she smiled back
at him.