Maida's Little Shop Part 24

Billy grinned.

And, sure enough, "You watch him," was all Arthur would say to the entreaties of his friends.

Sixth, Billy ran a double line of rope between Maida's and Laura's window, a second between Rosie's and Laura's, a third between Arthur's and Laura's, a fourth between d.i.c.ky's and Laura's.

Last, Billy opened another bundle. Out dropped four square tin boxes, each with a cover and a handle.

"I've guessed it! I've guessed it!" Maida and Rosie screamed together. "It's a telephone."

"That's the answer," Billy confessed. He went from house to house fastening a box to the lower rope.

"Now when you want to say anything to Laura," he said on his return, "just write a note, put it in the box, pull on the upper string and it will sail over to her window. Suppose you all run home and write something now. I'll go over to Laura's to see how it works."

The children scattered. In a few moments, four excited little faces appeared at as many windows. The telephone worked perfectly. Billy handed Mrs. Lathrop the notes to deliver to Laura.

"Oh, Mr. Potter," Mrs. Lathrop said suddenly, "there's a matter that I wished to speak to you about. That little Flynn girl has lived in the family of Mr. Jerome Westabrook, hasn't she?"

Billy's eyes "skrinkled up." "Yes, Mrs. Lathrop," he admitted, "she lived in the Westabrook family for several years."

"So I guessed," Mrs. Lathrop said. "She's a very sweet little girl,"

she went on earnestly for she had been touched by the sight of Maida's grief the day that she held Laura to the window. "I hope Mr.

Westabrook's own little girl is as sweet."

"She is, Mrs. Lathrop, I a.s.sure you she is," Billy said gravely.

"What is the name of the Westabrook child?"

"Elizabeth Fairfax Westabrook."

"What is she like?"

"She's a good deal like Maida," Billy said, his eyes beginning to "skrinkle up" again. "They could easily pa.s.s for sisters."

"I suppose that's why the Westabrooks have been so good to the little Flynn girl," Mrs. Lathrop went on, "for they certainly are very good to her. It is quite evident that Maida's clothes belonged once to the little Westabrook girl."

"You are quite right, Mrs. Lathrop. They were made for the little Westabrook girl."

Mrs. Lathrop always declared afterwards that it was the telephone that really cured Laura. Certainly, it proved to be the most exciting of toys to the little invalid. There was always something waiting for her when she waked up in the morning and the tin boxes kept bobbing from window to window until long after dark. The girls kept her informed of what was going on in the neighborhood and the boys sent her jokes and conundrums and puzzle pictures cut from the newspapers. Gifts came to her at all hours. Sometimes it would be a bit of wood-carving-a grotesque face, perhaps-that Arthur had done.

Sometimes it was a bit of d.i.c.ky's pretty paper-work. Rosie sent her specimens of her cooking from candy to hot roasted potatoes, and Maida sent her daily translations of an exciting fairy tale which she was reading in French for the first time.

Pretty soon Laura was well enough to answer the notes herself. She wrote each of her correspondents a long, grateful and affectionate letter. By and by, she was able to sit in a chair at the window and watch the games. The children remembered every few moments to look and wave to her and she always waved back. At last came the morning when a very thin, pale Laura was wheeled out into the suns.h.i.+ne.

After that she grew well by leaps and bounds. In a day or two, she could stand in the ring-games with the little children. By the end of a week, she seemed quite herself.

One morning every child in Primrose Court received a letter in the mail. It was written on gay-tinted paper with a pretty picture at the top. It read:

"You are cordially invited to a Halloween party to be given by Miss Laura Lathrop at 29 Primrose Court on Sat.u.r.day evening, October 31, at a half after seven."

But as Maida ceased gradually to worry about Laura, she began to be troubled about Rosie. For Rosie was not the same child. Much of the time she was silent, moody and listless.

One afternoon she came over to the shop, bringing the Clark twins with her. For awhile she and Maida played "house" with the little girls. Suddenly, Rosie tired of this game and sent the children home. Then for a time, she frolicked with Fluff while Maida read aloud. As suddenly as she had stopped playing "house" she interrupted Maida.

"Don't read any more," she commanded, "I want to talk with you."

Maida had felt the whole afternoon that there was something on Rosie's mind for whenever the scowl came between Rosie's eyebrows, it meant trouble. Maida closed her book and sat waiting.

"Maida," Rosie asked, "do you remember your mother?"

"Oh, yes," Maida answered, "perfectly. She was very beautiful. I could not forget her any more than a wonderful picture. She used to come and kiss me every night before she went to dinner with papa.

She always smelled so sweet-whenever I see any flowers, I think of her. And she wore such beautiful dresses and jewels. She loved sparkly things, I guess-sometimes she looked like a fairy queen.

Once she had a new lace gown all made of roses of lace and she had a diamond fastened in every rose to make it look like dew. When her hair was down, it came to her knees. She let me brush it sometimes with her gold brush."

"A gold brush," Rosie said in an awed tone.

"Yes, it was gold with her initials in diamonds on it. Papa gave her a whole set one birthday."

"How old were you when she died?" Rosie asked after a pause in which her scowl grew deeper.

"Eight."

"What did she die of?"

"I don't know," Maida answered. "You see I was so little that I didn't understand about dying. I had never heard of it. They told me one day that my mother had gone away. I used to ask every day when she was coming back and they'd say 'next week' and 'next week' and 'next week' until one day I got so impatient that I cried. Then they told me that my mother was living far away in a beautiful country and she would never come back. They said that I must not cry for she still loved me and was always watching over me. It was a great comfort to know that and of course I never cried after that for fear of worrying her. But at first it was very lonely. Why, Rosie-" She stopped terrified. "What's the matter?"

Rosie had thrown herself on the couch, and was crying bitterly. "Oh, Maida," she sobbed, "that's exactly what they say to me when I ask them-'next week' and 'next week' and 'next week' until I'm sick of it. My mother is dead and I know it."

"Oh, Rosie!" Maida protested. "Oh no, no, no-your mother is not dead. I can't believe it. I won't believe it."

"She is," Rosie persisted. "I know she is. Oh, what shall I do?

Think how naughty I was! What shall I do?" She sobbed so convulsively that Maida was frightened.

"Listen, Rosie," she said. "You don't _know_ your mother is dead.

And I for one don't believe that she is."

"But they said the same thing to you," Rosie protested pa.s.sionately.

"I think it was because I was sick," Maida said after a moment in which she thought the matter out. "They were afraid that I might die if they told me the truth. But whether your mother is alive or dead, the only way you can make up for being naughty is to be as good to your Aunt Theresa as you can. Oh, Rosie, please go to school every day."

"Do you suppose I could ever hook jack again?" Rosie asked bitterly.

She dried her eyes. "I guess I'll go home now," she said, "and see if I can help Aunt Theresa with the supper. And I'm going to get her to teach me how to cook everything so that I can help mother-if she ever comes home."

The next day Rosie came into the shop with the happiest look that she had worn for a long time.

"I peeled the potatoes for Aunt Theresa, last night," she announced, "and set the table and wiped the dishes. She was real surprised. She asked me what had got into me?"

"I'm glad," Maida approved.

"I asked her when mother was coming back and she said the same thing, 'Next week, I think.'" Rosie's lip quivered.