“Dear me, haven’t you anything better than that?”

Maida gave her all her prices.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing good enough here,” the little girl went
on disdainfully. “My mother won’t let me eat cheap candy. Generally,
she has a box sent over twice a week from Boston. But the one we
expected to-day didn’t come.”

“The little girl likes to make people think that she has nicer
things than anybody else,” Maida thought. She started to speak. If
she had permitted herself to go on, she would have said: “The candy
in this shop is quite good enough for any little girl. But I won’t
sell it to you, anyway.” But, instead, she said as quietly as she
could: “No, I don’t believe there’s anything here that you’ll care
for. But I’m sure you’ll find lots of expensive candy on Main
Street.”

The little girl evidently was not expecting that answer. She
lingered, still looking into the show case. “I guess I’ll take five
cents’ worth of peppermints,” she said finally. Some of the
importance had gone out of her voice.

Maida put the candy into a bag and handed it to her without
speaking. The girl bustled towards the door. Half-way, she stopped
and came back.

“My name is Laura Lathrop,” she said. “What’s yours?”

“Maida.”