SAVE YOUR PENNIES
A CHRISTMAS FAIR
WILL BE HELD IN THIS SHOP
THE SATURDAY BEFORE
CHRISTMAS
DELICIOUS CANDIES MADE BY
MISS ROSIE BRINE
PAPER GOODS DESIGNED AND
EXECUTED BY
MASTER RICHARD DORE
WOOD CARVING DESIGNED AND
EXECUTED BY
MASTER ARTHUR DUNCAN
DON’T MISS IT!
This sign hung in Maida’s window for a week. Billy made it. The
lettering was red and gold. In one corner, he painted a picture of a
little boy and girl in their nightgowns peeking up a chimney-place
hung with stockings. In the other corner, the full-moon face of a
Santa Claus popped like a jolly jack-in-the-box from a chimney-top.
A troop of reindeer, dragging a sleigh full of toys, scurried
through the printing. The whole thing was enclosed in a wreath of
holly.
The sign attracted a great deal of attention. Children were always
stopping to admire it and even grown-people paused now and then.
There was such a falling-off of Maida’s trade that she guessed that
the children were really saving their pennies for the fair. This
delighted her.
The W.M.N.T.’s wasted no time that last week in spite of a very
enticing snowstorm. Maida, of course, had nothing to do on her own
account, but she worked with Dicky, morning and afternoon.
Rosie could not make candy until the last two or three days for fear
it would get stale. Then she set to like a little whirlwind.
“My face is almost tanned from bending over the stove,” she said to
Maida; “Aunt Theresa says if I cook another batch of candy, I’ll
have a crop of freckles.”
Arthur seemed to work the hardest of all because his work was so
much more difficult. It took a great deal of time and strength and
yet nobody could help him in it. The sound of his hammering came
into Maida’s room early in the morning. It came in sometimes late at
night when, cuddling between her blankets, she thought what a happy
girl she was.
“I niver saw such foine, busy little folks,” Granny said approvingly
again and again. “It moinds me av me own Annie. Niver a moment but
that lass was working at some t’ing. Oh, I wonder what she’s doun’
and finking this Christmas.”
“Don’t you worry,” Maida always said. “Billy’ll find her for you
yet—he said he would.”
Maida, herself, was giving, for the first time in her experience, a
good deal of thought to Christmas time.
In the first place, she had sent the following invitation to every
child in Primrose Court:
“Will you please come to my Christmas Tree to be given Christmas
Night in the ‘Little Shop.’ Maida.”
In the second place, she was spying on all her friends, listening to
their talk, watching them closely in work and play to find just the
right thing to give them.
“Do you know, I never made a Christmas present in my life,” she said
one day to Rosie.
“You never made a Christmas present?” Rosie repeated.
Maida’s quick perception sensed in Rosie’s face an unspoken
accusation of selfishness.
“It wasn’t because I didn’t want to, Rosie dear,” Maida hastened to
explain. “It was because I was too sick. You see, I was always in
bed. I was too weak to make anything and I could not go out and buy
presents as other children did. But people used to give me the
loveliest things.”
“What did they give you?” Rosie asked curiously.
“Oh, all kinds of things. Father’s given me an automobile and a pair
of Shetland ponies and a family of twenty dolls and my weight in
silver dollars. I can’t remember half the things I’ve had.”
“A pair of Shetland ponies, an automobile, a family of twenty dolls,
your weight in silver dollars,” Rosie repeated after her. “Why,
Maida, you’re dreaming or you’re out of your head.”
“Out of my head! Why, Rosie you’re out of _your_ head. Don’t you
suppose I know what I got for Christmas?” Maida’s eyes began to
flash and her lips to tremble.
“Well, now, Maida, just think of it,” Rosie said in her most
reasonable voice. “Here you are a little girl just like anybody else
only you’re running a shop. Now just as if you could afford to have
an automobile! Why, my father knows a man who knows another man who
bought an automobile and it cost nine hundred dollars. What did
yours cost?”
“Two thousand dollars.” Maida said this with a guilty air in spite
of her knowledge of her own truth.
Rosie smiled roguishly. “Maida, dear,” she coaxed, “you dreamed it.”
Maida started to her feet. For a moment she came near saying
something very saucy indeed. But she remembered in time. Of course
nobody in the neighborhood knew that she was “Buffalo” Westabrook’s
daughter. It was impossible for her to prove any of her statements.
The flash died out of her eyes. But another flash came into her
cheeks—the flash of dimples.
“Well, perhaps I _did_ dream it, Rosie,” she said archly. “But I
don’t think I did,” she added in a quiet voice.
Rosie turned the subject tactfully. “What are you going to give your
father?” she asked.
“That’s bothering me dreadfully,” Maida sighed; “I can’t think of
anything he needs.”
“Why don’t you buy him the same thing I’m going to get my papa,”
Rosie suggested eagerly. “That is, I’m going to buy it if I make
enough money at the fair. Does your father shave himself?”
“Oh, Adolph, his valet, always shaves him,” Maida answered.
Rosie’s brow knit over the word _valet_—but Maida was always
puzzling the neighborhood with strange expressions. Then her brow
lightened. “My father goes to a barber, too,” she said. “I’ve heard
him complaining lots of times how expensive it is. And the other day
Arthur told me about a razor his father uses. He says it’s just like
a lawn-mower or a carpet-sweeper. You don’t have to have anybody
shave you if you have one of them. You run it right over your face
and it takes all the beard off and doesn’t cut or anything. Now,
wouldn’t you think that would be fun?”
“I should think it would be just lovely,” Maida agreed. “That’s just
the thing for papa—for he is so busy. How much does it cost, Rosie?”
“About a dollar, Arthur thought. I never paid so much for a
Christmas present in my life. And I’m not sure yet that I can get
one. But if I do sell two dollars worth of candy, I can buy
something perfectly beautiful for both father and mother.”
“Oh, Rosie,” Maida asked breathlessly, “do you mean that your
mother’s come back?”
Rosie’s face changed. “Don’t you think I’d tell you that the first
thing? No, she hasn’t come back and they don’t say anything about
her coming back. But if she ever does come, I guess I’m going to
have her Christmas present all ready for her.”
Maida patted her hand. “She’s coming back,” she said; “I know it.”
Rosie sighed. “You come down Main Street the night before Christmas.
Dicky and I are going to buy our Christmas presents then and we can
show you where to get the little razor.”
“I’d love to.” Maida beamed. And indeed, it seemed the most
fascinating prospect in the world to her. Every night after she went
to bed, she thought it over. She was really going to buy Christmas
presents without any grown-up person about to interfere. It was
rapture.
The night before the fair, the children worked even harder than the
night before Halloween, for there were so many things to display. It
was evident that the stock would overflow windows and shelves and
show cases.
“We’ll bring the long kitchen table in for your things, Arthur,”
Maida decided after a perplexed consideration of the subject.
“Dicky’s and Rosie’s things ought to go on the shelves and into the
show cases where nobody can handle them.”
They tugged the table into the shop and covered it with a beautiful
old blue counter-pane.
“That’s fine!” Arthur approved, unpacking his handicraft from the
bushel-baskets in which he brought them.
The others stood round admiring the treasures and helping him to
arrange them prettily. A fleet of graceful little boats occupied one
end of the table, piles of bread-boards, rolling-pins and “cats,”
the other. In the center lay a bowl filled with tiny baskets, carved
from peach-stones. From the molding hung a fringe of hockey-sticks.
Having arranged all Arthur’s things, the quartette filed upstairs to
the closet where Dicky’s paper-work was kept.
“Gracious, I didn’t realize there were so many,” Rosie said.
“Sure, the lad has worked day and night,” Granny said, patting
Dicky’s thin cheek.
They filled Arthur’s baskets and trooped back to the shop. They
lined show case and shelves with the glittering things—boxes, big
and little, gorgeously ornamented with stars and moons, caps of gold
and silver, flying gay plumes, rainbow boats too beautiful to sail
on anything but fairy seas, miniature jackets and trousers that only
a circus rider would wear.
“Dicky, I never did see anything look so lovely,” Maida said,
shaking her hands with delight. “I really didn’t realize how pretty
they were.”
Dicky’s big eyes glowed with satisfaction. “Nor me neither,” he
confessed.
“And now,” Maida said, bubbling over with suppressed importance,
“Rosie’s candies—I’ve saved that until the last.” She pulled out one
of the drawers under the show case and lifted it on to the counter.
It was filled with candy-boxes of paper, prettily decorated with
flower patterns on the outside, with fringes of lace paper on the
inside. “I ordered these boxes for you, Rosie,” she explained. “I
knew your candy would sell better if it was put up nicely. I thought
the little ones could be five-cent size, the middle-sized ones
ten-cent size, and the big ones twenty-five cent size.”
Rosie was dancing up and down with delight. “They’re just lovely,
Maida, and how sweet you were to think of it. But it was just like
you.”
“Now we must pack them,” Maida said.
Four pairs of hands made light work of this. By nine o’clock all the
boxes were filled and spread out temptingly in the show case. By a
quarter past nine, three of the W.M.N.T.’s were in bed trying hard
to get to sleep. But Maida stayed up. The boxes were not her only
surprise.
After the others had gone, she and Granny worked for half an hour in
the little shop.
The Saturday before Christmas dawned clear and fair. Rosie hallooed
for Dicky and Arthur as she came out of doors at half-past seven and
all three arrived at the shop together. Their faces took on such a
comic look of surprise that Maida burst out laughing.
“But where did it all come from?” Rosie asked in bewilderment.
“Maida, you slyboots, you must have done all this after we left.”
Maida nodded.
But all Arthur and Dicky said was “Gee!” and “Jiminy crickets!” But
Maida found these exclamatives quite as expressive as Rosie’s hugs.
And, indeed, she herself thought the place worthy of any degree of
admiring enthusiasm.
The shop was so strung with garlands of Christmas green that it
looked like a bower. Bunches of mistletoe and holly added their
colors to the holiday cheer. Red Christmas bells hung everywhere.
“My goodness, I never passed such a day in my life,” Maida said that
night at dinner. She was telling it all to Granny, who had been away
on mysterious business of her own. “It’s been like a beehive here
ever since eight o’clock this morning. If we’d each of us had an
extra pair of hands at our knees and another at our waists, perhaps
we could have begun to wait on all the people.”
“Sure ’twas no more than you deserved for being such busy little
bees,” Granny approved.
“The only trouble was,” Maida went on smilingly, “that they liked
everything so much that they could not decide which they wanted
most. Of course, the boys preferred Arthur’s carvings and the girls
Rosie’s candy. But it was hard to say who liked Dicky’s things the
best.”
Granny twinkled with delight. She had never told Maida, but she did
not need to tell her, that Dicky was her favorite.
“And then the grown people who came, Granny! First Arthur’s father
on his way to work, then Mrs. Lathrop and Laura—they bought loads of
things, and Mrs. Clark and Mrs. Doyle and even Mr. Flanagan bought a
hockey-stick. He said,” Maida dimpled with delight, “he said he
bought it to use on Arthur and Rosie if they ever hooked jack again.
Poor Miss Allison bought one of Arthur’s ‘cats’—what do you suppose
for?”
Granny had no idea.
“To wind her wool on. Then Billy came at the last minute and bought
everything that was left. And just think, Granny, there was a crowd
of little boys and girls who had stood about watching all day
without any money to spend and Billy divided among them all the
things he bought. Guess how much money they made!”
Granny guessed three sums, and each time Maida said, triumphantly,
“More!” At last Granny had to give it up.
“Arthur made five dollars and thirty cents. Dicky made three dollars
and eighty-seven cents. Rosie made two dollars and seventy cents.”
After dinner that night, Maida accompanied Rosie and Dicky on the
Christmas-shopping expedition.
They went first to a big dry goods store with Dicky. They helped
Dicky to pick out a fur collar for his mother from a counter marked
conspicuously $2.98. The one they selected was of gray and brown
fur. It was Maida’s opinion that it was sable and chinchilla mixed.
Dicky’s face shone with delight when at last he tucked the big round
box safely under his arm. “Just think, I’ve been planning to do this
for three years,” he said, “and I never could have done it now if it
hadn’t been for you, Maida.”
Next Dicky took the two little girls where they could buy razors.
“The kind that goes like a lawn-mower,” Rosie explained to the
proprietor. The man stared hard before he showed them his stock. But
he was very kind and explained to them exactly how the wonderful
little machine worked.
Maida noticed that Rosie examined very carefully all the things
displayed in windows and on counters. But nothing she saw seemed to
satisfy her, for she did not buy.
“What is it, Rosie?” Maida asked after a while.
“I’m looking for something for my mother.”
“I’ll help you,” Maida said. She took Rosie’s hand, and, thus linked
together, the two little girls discussed everything that they saw.
Suddenly, Rosie uttered a little cry of joy and stopped at a
jeweler’s window. A tray with the label, “SOLID SILVER, $1,”
overflowed with little heart-shaped pendants.
“Mama’d love one of those,” Rosie said. “She just loved things she
could hang round her neck.”
They went inside. “It’s just what I want,” Rosie declared. “But I
wish I had a little silver chain for it. I can’t afford one though,”
she concluded wistfully.
“Oh, I know what to do,” Maida said. “Buy a piece of narrow black
velvet ribbon. Once my father gave my mother a beautiful diamond
heart. Mother used to wear it on a black velvet ribbon. Afterwards
papa bought her a chain of diamonds. But she always liked the black
velvet best and so did papa and so did I. Papa said it made her neck
look whiter.”
The other three children looked curiously at Maida when she said,
“diamond heart.” When she said, “string of diamonds,” they looked at
each other.
“Was that another of your dreams, Maida?” Rosie asked mischievously.
“Dreams!” Maida repeated, firing up. But before she could say
anything that she would regret, the dimples came. “Perhaps it was a
dream,” she said prettily. “But if it was, then everything’s a
dream.”
“I believe every word that Maida says,” Dicky protested stoutly.
“I believe that Maida believes it,” Arthur said with a smile.
They all stopped with Rosie while she bought the black velvet ribbon
and strung the heart on it. She packed it neatly away in the glossy
box in which the jeweler had done it up.
“If my mama doesn’t come back to wear that heart, nobody else ever
will,” she said passionately. “Never—never—never—unless I have a
little girl of my own some day.”
“Your mother’ll come back,” Maida said.