"Thank you so much," said the girls, highly pleased.
"He is a real nice man," said Florence, when they were in the street. "I didn't believe he would think of me."
"Yes, I think he is nice," said Dimple; "besides he has known me ever since I was a baby; he mightn't be so nice to a stranger."
They next came to a little low brown building with one window. As they went in at the door, a small bell over it tinkled and a voice said, "In a minute."
While they waited they looked about the shop, which was quite a curiosity to Florence. In the window were jars of candy, red and white, gingerbread horses, shoestrings, oranges, lemons, and dolls strung along in a line, the largest in the middle and the smallest at each end; besides these there were tops, whistles, writing paper, pencils, scrap pictures, and a variety of other things, all jumbled up together. Inside, the glass case and the shelves were full, and from the ceiling hung rolls of cotton in tissue paper, toy wagons, jumping-jacks and hoops.
"What a funny place," whispered Florence; but just then a funnier old woman came in. Her face looked like a withered apple, it was so wrinkled and rosy; her eyes were bright and her grey hair was combed back under a high white cap. As she came behind the counter, Florence saw that one of her hands was very much scarred, and the fingers bent. She wondered what had happened to it.
"Well, little Dallas girl, it's you, is it? And how is my pretty with her dimples and curls? Hm! Hm! Hm! The little Dallas girl," said the old woman.
"Mamma wants four lemons, Mrs. Wills," said Dimple.
"Four lemons; four—four—" said the old woman, going to a box and taking them out.
"And she wants to know if you have any fresh eggs?"