the plaster, painting the woodwork.

Finally came two days of waiting for the paint to dry. “Will it
ever, _ever_, EVER dry?” Maida used to ask Billy in 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,”
Maida begged.

But, “Sky-blue-pink” was all she got from Billy.

Saturday the furniture came.

In the meantime, Maida 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.

Maida enjoyed this tremendously, although often she had to go to bed
before dark. She said it was the responsibility that tired her.

To Maida, these big wholesale places seemed like the 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 Maida to choose, because she was