Maida's Little Shop Part 32

"Rosie," Maida said impressively, "you ought to be the happiest little girl in the world. Think of having a baby brother for a Christmas present. You will let me wheel him sometimes, won't you?"

"Of course I will. I shall divide him exactly in half with you."

"Where has your mother been all this time?" Maida asked.

"Oh, she's been dreadfully sick in a hospital. She was sick after the baby came to her-so sick that she couldn't even take care of him. She said they were afraid she was going to die. But she's all right now. Father bought her for Christmas a beautiful, long, red-silk dress that's just to lie down in. She looks like a queen in it, and yet she looks like a little girl, too, for her hair is done in two braids. Her hair comes way down below her waist like your mother's hair. And when I gave her the little silver heart, she was so pleased with it. She put it right on and it looked sweet. She said she would much rather wear it on a black velvet ribbon than on a silver chain."

"Everything's come out all right, hasn't it?" Maida said with ecstasy.

"I guess it has. Now I must go. I want to be sure to be there when the baby wakes up. I asked my mother when you could see the baby, Maida, and she said to-morrow. I can't wait to show you its feet-you never did see such little toes in your life."

Exciting as this event was, it was as nothing to what followed.

Granny and Maida were still talking about Rosie's happiness when Billy Potter suddenly came marching through the shop and into the living-room.

"Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!" they all said at once.

"Granny," Billy asked immediately, "if you could have your choice of all the Christmas gifts in the world, which one would you choose?"

An expression of bewilderment came into Granny's bright blue eyes.

"A Christmas gift, Misther Billy," she said in an uncertain tone; "I cudn't t'ink of a t'ing as long as Oi can't have me little Annie wid me."

Maida saw Billy's eyes snap and sparkle at the word Annie. She wondered what-Could it be possible that-She began to tremble.

"And so you'd choose your daughter, Granny?" Billy questioned.

"Choose my daughter. Av coorse Oi wud!" Granny stopped to stare in astonishment at Billy. "Oh, Misther Billy, if you cud only foind her!" She gazed imploringly at him. Billy continued to smile at her, his eyes all "skrinkled up." Granny jumped to her feet. She seized Billy's arm. "Oh, Misther Billy, you _have_ found her," she quavered.

Billy nodded. "I've found her, Granny! I told you I would and I have. Now don't get excited. She's all right and you're all right and everything's all right. She'll be here just as soon as you're ready to see her."

For a moment Maida was afraid Granny was going to faint, for she dropped back into her chair and her eyes filled with tears. But at Billy's last words the old fire came back to her eyes, the color to her cheeks. "Oi want to see her at wance," she said with spirit.

"Listen," Billy said. "Last night I happened to fall into conversation with a young Irishman who had come to read the gas-meter in my house. I asked him where he came from. He said, 'Aldigarey, County Sligo.' I asked him if he knew Annie Flynn.

'Sure, didn't she marry my cousin? She lives-' Well, the short of it is that I went right over to see her, though it was late then. I found her a widow with two children. She nearly went crazy at the prospect of seeing her mother again, but we agreed that we must wait until morning. We planned-oh, come in, Annie," he called suddenly.

At his call, the shop door opened and shut. There was a rush of two pairs of feet through the shop. In the doorway appeared a young woman carrying a baby. Behind her came a little boy on crutches.

Granny stood like a marble statue, staring. But Maida screamed.

Who do you suppose they were?

They were Mrs. Dore and Delia and d.i.c.ky.

"Oh, my mother!" Mrs. Dore said.

"My little Annie-my little girl," Granny murmured. The tears began to stream down her cheeks.

Followed kissings and huggings by the dozen. Followed questions and answers by the score.

"And to t'ink you've been living forninst us all this time," Granny said after the excitement had died down. She was sitting on the couch now, with Delia asleep in her lap, Mrs. Dore on one side and d.i.c.ky on the other. "And sure, me own hearrt was telling me the trut' all the toime did Oi but listhen to ut-for 'twas loving this foine little lad ivry minut av the day." She patted d.i.c.ky's head.

"And me niver seeing the baby that had me own name!" She cuddled Delia close. "OI'm the happiest woman in the whole woide wurrld this day."

It was arranged that the two families were to have Christmas dinner together. d.i.c.ky and Mrs. Dore hurried back for a few moments to bring their turkey to the feast.

"Granny, will you love me just the same now that you've got d.i.c.ky and Delia?" Maida said wistfully.

"Love you, my lamb? Sure, I'll love you all the more for 'twas t'rough you I met Misther Billy and t'rough Misther Billy I found me Annie. Ah, Misther Billy, 'tis the grand man you make for such a b'y that you are!"

"Yes, m'm," said Billy.

When Mrs. Dore returned, mother and daughter went to work on the dinner, while Billy and Maida and d.i.c.ky trimmed the tree. When the door opened, they caught bits of conversation, Granny's brogue growing thicker and thicker in her excitement, and Mrs. Dore relapsing, under its influence, into old-country speech. At such times, Maida noticed that Billy's eyes always "skrinkled up."

They were just putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches to the tree when the window darkened suddenly. Maida looked up in surprise. And then, "Oh, my papa's come!" she screamed; "my papa's come to my Christmas tree after all!"

There is so much to tell about the Christmas tree that I don't know where to begin.

First of all came Laura and Harold. Mrs. Lathrop stopped with them for a moment to congratulate Mrs. Dore on finding her mother.

"Mrs. Lathrop, permit me to introduce my father, Mr. Westabrook,"

Maida said.

Mrs. Lathrop was very gracious. "The neighborhood have accepted your daughter as Mrs. Flynn's grandchild, Mr. Westabrook. But I guessed the truth from the first. I believed, however, that you wished the matter kept a secret and I have said nothing of it to anybody."

"I thank you, madam," said "Buffalo" Westabrook, bending on her one of his piercing scrutinies. "How ever the neighborhood accepted her, they have given her back her health. I can never be too grateful to them."

Came Rosie next with a, "Oh, Maida, if you could only have seen Edward when my mother bathed him to-night!" Came Arthur, came the Doyles, came the Clark twins with Betsy tagging at their heels. Last of all, to Maida's great delight, came Dr. Pierce.

n.o.body was allowed to go into the shop where the tree stood until the last guest had arrived. But in spite of their impatience they had a gay half hour of waiting. Billy amused them with all kinds of games and tricks and jokes, and when he tired, Dr. Pierce, who soon became a great favorite, took them in hand.

Dr. Pierce sat, most of the evening, holding Betsy in his lap, listening to her funny baby chatter and roaring at her escapades. He took a great fancy to the Clark twins and made all manner of fun for the children by pretending that there was only one of them.

"Goodness; how you do fly about!" he would say ruefully to Dorothy, "An instant ago you were standing close beside me," or "How can you be here on the couch," he would say to Mabel, "when there you are as plain as a pikestaff standing up in the corner?"

"What can you do about that leg, Eli?" Mr. Westabrook asked Dr.

Pierce once when d.i.c.ky swung across the room.

"I've been thinking about that," Dr. Pierce answered briskly. "I guess Granny and Annie will have to let me take d.i.c.ky for a while. A few months in my hospital and he'll be jumping round here like a frog with the toothache."

"Oh, Dr. Pierce, do you think you can cure him?" Mrs. Dore asked, clasping her hands.

"Cure him!" Dr. Pierce answered with his jolliest laugh. "Of course we can. He's not in half so bad a condition as Maida was when we straightened her out. Greinschmidt taught us a whole bag of tricks.

d.i.c.ky could almost mend himself if he'd only stay still long enough.

Look at Maida. Would you ever think she'd been much worse than d.i.c.ky?"

Everybody stared hard at Maida, seated on her father's knee, and she dimpled and blushed under the observation. She was dressed all in white-white ribbons, white sash, white socks and shoes, the softest, filmiest white cobweb dress. Her hair streamed loose-a cascade of delicate, clinging ringlets of the palest gold. Her big, gray eyes, soft with the happiness of the long day, reflected the firelight.

Her cheeks had grown round as well as pink and dimpled.

She did not look sick.

"Oh, d.i.c.ky," she cried, "just think, you're going to be cured.