Maida was awakened early Christmas morning by a long, wild peal of
the bell. Before she could collect her scattered wits, she heard
Rosie’s voice, “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!
Oh, Granny, won’t you please let me run upstairs and wake Maida?
I’ve got something dreadfully important to tell her.”
Maida heard Granny’s bewildered “All roight, child,” heard Rosie’s
rush through the living-room and then she bounded out of bed,
prickling all over with excitement.
“Maida,” Rosie called from the stairs, “wake up! I’ve something
wonderful to tell you.”
But Maida had guessed it.
“I know,” she cried, as Rosie burst into the room. “Your mother’s
come home.”
“My mother’s come home,” Rosie echoed.
The two little girls seized each other and hopped around the room in
a mad dance, Maida chanting in a deep sing-song, “Your mother’s come
home!” and Rosie screaming at the top of her lungs, “My mother’s
come home!” After a few moments of this, they sank exhausted on the
bed.
“Tell me all about it,” Maida gasped. “Begin at the very beginning
and don’t leave anything out.”
“Well, then,” Rosie began, “I will. When I went to bed last night
after leaving you, I got to thinking of my mother and pretty soon I
was so sad that I nearly cried my eyes out. Well, after a long while
I got to sleep and I guess I must have been very tired, for I didn’t
wake up the way I do generally of my own accord. Aunt Theresa had to
wake me. She put on my best dress and did my hair this new way and
even let me put cologne on. I couldn’t think why, because I never
dress up until afternoons. Once when I looked at her, I saw there
were tears in her eyes and, oh, Maida, it made me feel something
awful, for I thought she was going to tell me that my mother was
dead. When I came downstairs, my father hugged me and kissed me and
sat with me while I ate my breakfast. Oh, I was so afraid he was
going to tell me that mother was dead! But he didn’t! After awhile,
he said, ‘Your Christmas presents are all up in your mother’s
bedroom, Rosie.’ So I skipped up there. My father and Aunt Theresa
didn’t come with me, but I noticed they stood downstairs and
listened. I opened the door.”
Rosie stopped for breath.
“Go on,” Maida entreated; “oh, do hurry.”
“Well, there, lying on the bed was my mother. Maida, I felt so queer
that I couldn’t move. My feet wouldn’t walk—just like in a dream.
My mother said, ‘Come here, my precious little girl,’ but it sounded
as if it came from way, way, way off. And Maida _then_ I could move.
I ran across the room and hugged her and kissed her until I couldn’t
breathe. Then she said, ‘I have a beautiful Christmas gift for you,
little daughter,’ and she pulled something over towards me that lay,
all wrapped up, in a shawl on the bed. What do you think it was?”
“I don’t know. Oh, tell me, Rosie!”
“Guess,” Rosie insisted, her eyes dancing.
“Rosie, if you don’t tell me this minute, I’ll pinch you.”
“It was a baby—a little baby brother.”
“A baby! Oh, Rosie!”
The two little girls hopped about the room in another mad dance.
“Maida, he’s the darlingest baby that ever was in the whole wide
world! His name is Edward. He’s only six weeks old and _he can
smile_.”
“Smile, Rosie?”
“He can—I saw him—and sneeze!”
“Sneeze, Rosie?”
“That’s not all,” said Rosie proudly. “He can wink his eyes and
double up his fists—and—and—and a whole lot of things. There’s no
doubt that he’s a remarkable baby. My mother says so. And pretty
as—oh, he’s prettier than any puppy I ever saw. He’s a little too
pink in the face and he hasn’t much hair yet—there’s a funny spot in
the top of his head that goes up and down all the time that you have
to be dreadfully careful about. But he certainly is the loveliest
baby I ever saw. What do you think my mother let me do?”
“Oh, what?”
“She let me rock him for a moment. And I asked her if you could rock
him some day and she said you could.”
“Oh! oh!”
“And what else do you think she’s going to let me do?”
“I can’t guess. Oh, tell me quick, Rosie.”
“She says she’s going to let me give him his bath Saturdays and
Sundays and wheel him out every day in his carriage.”
“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 Dicky.
“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
Dicky 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 Dicky’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. Dicky 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 Dicky
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 Dicky 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 finishing 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.
Nobody 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 Dicky 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 Dicky 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.
Dicky 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
Dicky?”
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, Dicky,” she cried, “just think, you’re going to be cured.
Didn’t I tell you when my father saw you, he’d fix it all right? My
father’s a magician!”
But Dicky could not answer. He was gulping furiously to keep back
the tears of delight. But he smiled his radiant smile. Billy took
everybody’s attention away from him by turning an unexpected
cartwheel in the middle of the floor.
Finally, Maida announced that it was time for the tree. They formed
in line and marched into the shop to a tune that Billy thumped out
of the silver-toned old spinet.
I wish you could have heard the things the children said.
----------------------
The tree went close to the ceiling. Just above it, with arms
outstretched, swung a beautiful Christmas angel. Hanging from it
were all kinds of glittery, quivery, sparkly things in silver and
gold. Festooned about it were strings of pop corn and cranberries.
At every branch-tip glistened a long glass icicle. And the whole
thing was ablaze with candles and veiled in a mist of gold and
silver.
At the foot of the tree, groups of tiny figures in painted plaster
told the whole Christmas Day story from the moment of the first
sight of the star by the shepherds who watched their flocks to the
arrival, at the manger, of the Wise Men, bearing gold, frankincense
and myrrh.
Billy Potter disappeared for a moment and came in, presently, the
most chubby and pink-faced and blue-eyed of Santa Clauses, in purple
velvet trimmed with ermine, with long white hair and a long white
beard.
I can’t begin to name to you all the fruits of that magic tree. From
Maida, there came to Rosie a big golden cage with a pair of canary
birds, to Arthur a chest of wonderful tools, to Dicky a little
bookcase full of beautiful books, to Laura a collection of sashes
and ribbons, to Harold a long train of cars. For Molly, Betsy and
the Clark twins came so many gifts that you could hardly count them
all—dolls and dolls’ wardrobes, tiny doll-houses and tinier
doll-furniture. For Tim came a sled and bicycle.
To Maida came a wonderful set of paper boxes from Dicky, a long
necklace of carved beads from Arthur, a beautiful blank-book, with
all her candy recipes, beautifully written out, from Rosie, a warm
little pair of knitted bed-shoes from Granny, a quaint, little,
old-fashioned locket from Dr. Pierce—he said it had once belonged to
another little sick girl who died.
From Billy came a book. Perhaps you can fancy how Maida jumped when
she read “The Crystal Ball,” by William Potter, on the cover. But I
do not think you can imagine how pleased she looked when inside she
read the printed dedication, “To Petronilla.”
From her father came a beautiful miniature of her mother, painted on
ivory. The children crowded about her to see the beautiful face of
which Maida had told them so much. There was the mass of golden hair
which she had described so proudly. There, too, was a heart-shaped
pendant of diamonds, suspended from a black velvet ribbon tied close
to the white throat.
The children looked at the picture. Then they looked at each other.
But Maida did not notice. She was watching eagerly while Dr. Pierce
and Billy and her father opened her gifts to them.
She was afraid they would not understand. “They’re to save time, you
see, when you want to shave in a hurry,” she explained.
“Maida,” her father said gravely, “that is a very thoughtful gift.
It’s strange when you come to think of it, as busy a man as I am and
with all the friends I have, nobody has ever thought to give me a
safety razor.”
“I don’t know how I ever managed to get along without one,” Dr.
Pierce declared, his curls bobbing.
“As for me—I shall probably save about a third of my income in the
future,” Billy announced.
All three were so pleased that they laughed for a long time.
“I’m going to give you another Christmas present, Maida,” Mr.
Westabrook said suddenly, “I’m going to give us both one—a vacation.
We’re going to start for Europe, week after next.”
“Oh, papa, papa, how lovely!” Maida said. “Shall we see Venice
again? But how can I give up my little shop and my friends?”
“Maida going away!” the children exclaimed. “Oh, dear! oh, dear!”
“But Mr. Westabrook, isn’t Maida coming back again?” Rosie asked.
“How I shall miss her!” Laura chimed in.
“Take my lamb away,” Granny wailed. “Sure, she’ll be tuk sick in
those woild counthries! You’ll have to take me wid you, Misther
Westabrook—only—only—” She did not finish her sentence but her eyes
went anxiously to her daughter’s face.
“No, Granny, you’re not to go,” Mr. Westabrook said decisively;
“You’re to stay right here with your daughter and her children.
You’re all to run the shop and live over it. Maida’s old enough and
well enough to take care of herself now. And I think she’d better
begin to take care of me as well. Don’t you think so, Maida?”
“Of course I do, papa. If you need me, I want to.”
“Mr. Westabrook,” Molly broke into the conversation determinedly,
“did you ever give Maida a pair of Shetland ponies?”
Mr. Westabrook bent on the Robin the most amused of his smiles.
“Yes,” he said.
“And an automobile?” Tim asked.
Mr. Westabrook turned to the Bogle. “Yes,” he said, a little
puzzled.
“And did Maida’s mother have a gold brush with her initials in
diamonds on it?” Rosie asked.
Mr. Westabrook roared. “Yes,” he said.
“And have you got twelve peacocks, two of them white?” Arthur asked.
“Yes.”
“And has Maida a little theater of her own and a doll-house as big
as a cottage?” Laura asked.
“Yes.”
“And did she have a May-party last year that she invited over four
hundred children to?” Harold asked.
“Yes.”
“And did you give her her weight in silver dollars once?” Mabel
asked.
“Yes.”
“And a family of twenty dolls?” Dorothy asked.
“Yes, you shall see all these things when we come back,” Mr.
Westabrook promised.
“Then why did she run away?” Betsy asked solemnly.
Everybody laughed.
“I always said Maida was a princess in disguise,” Dicky maintained,
“and now I suppose she’s going back and be a princess again.”
“Dicky was the first friend I made, papa,” Maida said, smiling at
her first friend.
“But you’ll come back some time, won’t you, Maida?” Dicky begged.
“Yes, Dicky,” Maida answered, “_I’ll_ come back.”
Yes, Maida did come back. And what fun they all have, the Little Six
in their private quarters, and the Big Six with their picnics, and
their adventures with the Gypsies, is told in _Maida’s Little
House_.
THE END
----------------------------------------------------------------
THE CAROLYN WELLS BOOKS FOR GIRLS
Fresh, spirited stories that the modern small girl will take to her
heart these well known books by a famous author have won an
important place in the field of juvenile fiction.
THE FAMOUS "PATTY" BOOKS
Patty Fairfield Patty at Home Patty in the City Patty’s Summer Days
Patty in Paris Patty’s Friend Patty’s Pleasure Trip Patty’s Success
Patty’s Motor Car Patty’s Butterfly Days Patty’s Social Season
Patty’s Suitors Patty’s Romance Patty’s Fortune Patty Blossom
Patty—Bride Patty and Azalea
THE MARJORIE BOOKS
Marjorie’s Vacation Marjorie’s Busy Days Marjorie’s New Friend
Marjorie in Command Marjorie’s Maytime Marjorie at Seacote
TWO LITTLE WOMEN SERIES
Two Little Women Two Little Women and Treasure House Two Little
Women on a Holiday
DORRANCE SERIES
The Dorrance Domain Dorrance Doings
----------------------------------------------------------------
THE MARY JANE SERIES
By CLARA INGRAM JUDSON
Each Volume Complete in Itself.
Take a trip with Mary Jane. She is the heroine of this popular
series for young girls. You’ll find her a charming traveling
companion. Her good nature, her abounding interest in her friends
and surroundings, and her fascinating adventures both at home and
abroad have endeared her to thousands all over the country.
MARY JANE—HER BOOK
MARY JANE—HER VISIT
MARY JANE’S KINDERGARTEN
MARY JANE DOWN SOUTH
MARY JANE’S CITY HOME
MARY JANE IN NEW ENGLAND
MARY JANE’S COUNTRY HOME
MARY JANE AT SCHOOL
MARY JANE IN CANADA
MARY JANE’S SUMMER FUN
MARY JANE’S WINTER SPORTS
MARY JANE’S VACATION
MARY JANE IN ENGLAND
MARY JANE IN SCOTLAND
MARY JANE IN FRANCE
MARY JANE IN SWITZERLAND
MARY JANE IN ITALY
MARY JANE IN SPAIN
MARY JANE’S FRIENDS IN HOLLAND
----------------------------------------------------------------
THE BEVERLY GRAY STORIES
_by_
CLAIR BLANK
These stories, full of the fun and thrills of college life, with an
exciting mystery in each, have unusual appeal for the modern girl.
BEVERLY GRAY, FRESHMAN
BEVERLY GRAY, SOPHOMORE
BEVERLY GRAY, JUNIOR
BEVERLY GRAY, SENIOR
BEVERLY GRAY’S CAREER
BEVERLY GRAY ON A WORLD CRUISE
BEVERLY GRAY IN THE ORIENT
BEVERLY GRAY ON A TREASURE HUNT
BEVERLY GRAY’S RETURN
BEVERLY GRAY, REPORTER
BEVERLY GRAY’S ROMANCE
----------------------------------------------------------------
MELODY LANE MYSTERY STORIES
By LILIAN GARIS
Thrills, secrets, ghosts—adventures that will fascinate you seem to
surround pretty Carol Duncan. A vivid, plucky girl, her cleverness
at solving mysteries will captivate and thrill every mystery fan.
THE GHOST OF MELODY LANE
Three people see the "ghost" that wanders in the grove carrying
a waxy white rose. And in the end Carol finds the rose and the
ghost too!
THE FORBIDDEN TRAIL
Carol has several bad frights before she clears up the mystery
that keeps the family at Splatter Castle unhappy and afraid.
THE TOWER SECRET
The winking lights from the old tower defy explanation. Had the
engaging circus family anything to do with them?
THE WILD WARNING
What power did the strange, wild warning in the woods have over
Polly Flinders? Carol brings happiness to three families when
she solves this mystery.
THE TERROR AT MOANING CLIFF
Carol finally tracks the uncanny “haunts” in the great, bleak
house on “moaning cliff” to their source.
THE DRAGON OF THE HILLS
When Carol runs a tea shop for a friend, a baffling mystery
comes to her with her first customer.
THE MYSTERY OF STINGYMAN’S ALLEY
An adorable child is left at the day nursery where Carol
works—who are all the mysterious people trying to claim her?
THE SECRET OF THE KASHMIR SHAWL
_A sequel to _“The Wild Warning”
A shawl brought from Egypt brings with it an absorbing mystery
which Cecy, with the aid of Polly Flinders, finally solves.
----------------------------------------------------------------
FAIRY TALES
_and tales of wonder that
are favorites of young people the world over_
ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE Miss Mulock
ANDERSEN’S FAIRY TALES Hans Christian Andersen
AT THE BACK OF THE NORTH George MacDonald
WIND THE BLUE FAIRY BOOK Andrew Lang
ENGLISH FAIRY TALES Joseph Jacobs
GRANNY’S WONDERFUL CHAIR Frances Browne
GRIMM’S FAIRY TALES The Brothers Grimm
JAPANESE FAIRY TALES Yei Theadora Ozaki
THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE Miss Mulock
PINOCCHIO C. Collodi
THE PRINCESS AND CURDIE George MacDonald
THE PRINCESS AND THE GOBLIN George MacDonald
THE RED FAIRY BOOK Andrew Lang
THE WATER BABIES Charles Kingsley
----------------------------------------------------------------
GROSSET &. DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK