They found very few eatables—candy, fruit, or the like. Mrs. Murdock
had wisely sold out this perishable stock. One glass jar, however,
was crammed full of what Billy recognized to be “bulls-eyes”—round
lumps of candy as big as plums and as hard as stones. Billy said
that he loved bulls-eyes better than terrapin or 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
the 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 Maida 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, the latest bisque beauties, 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 Maida had never eaten so
much at one meal.

All this happened on Saturday. Maida 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