Maida's little house

by Inez Haynes Gillmore

Then there appeared back of Granny Flynn, Mrs. Dore—Granny Flynn’s daughter; Delia and Dicky Dore’s mother—who had to be met in the same affectionate way. Mrs. Dore was a tall, brown, fresh-complexioned woman. It was from her that Dicky inherited his brown coloring and Delia her sparkling expression.

“I’d never know you for the same child,” Mrs. Dore said.

Of course the grown people claimed Maida’s attention first. They showered her with questions and she answered them every one with all her old-time courtesy and consideration. Was she well? Well! But look at her! When did she land? She had landed the day before in New York; had come on the midnight to Boston. Where was she living? At their home on Beacon Street. Would she stay to lunch? Yes! Yes! Yes! Her father had said that if she were invited, she could spend the whole rest of the day in Primrose Court; he would send the car for her late in the afternoon. Where was she going after that? Her father would tell them all this afternoon. He had some plans, but they weren’t worked out yet. Would she be in Boston for a few days? Probably. Then, during that time, wouldn’t she like to come back to her own rooms over MAIDA’S LITTLE SHOP? Would she? Oh goody, she could telephone her father to bring her some clothes.... It went on and on until the older children stood first on one foot and then on the other with impatience; and the younger ones went back to their house-keeping game and their frequent punishments.

But finally the curiosity of this group of grown-ups was satisfied and the children claimed their prey. A clamorous group—every one of them telling her some bit of news and all at once—they made the tour of the Court. They called on Mrs. Lathrop, who mercifully forebore to ask more than five minutes of questions; and on the Misses Allison, a pair of middle-aged maiden ladies. Here the confusion doubled itself because of the noisy screams of Tony the parrot.

Tony kept calling at the top of his croaking voice, “What’s this all about?” Each of the children tried to tell him, but he was apparently dissatisfied with their explanations; for he only called the louder and with greater emphasis, “I say—what is this all about?” Finally, in despair he exclaimed, “Good-night, sweet dreams,” and subsided.

At length, the six of them—Maida, Rosie, Laura, Arthur, Dicky and Harold—retired to the Lathrop lawn and plumped down on the grass. They talked and talked and talked....

“How you have grown, Maida!” Rosie said first. “How tall you are and strong-looking!” She would have added, “And how pretty!” if the boys had not been there, but shyness kept her from making so personal a comment in their presence.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking about you,” Maida laughed, “but then you have all grown, Arthur particularly.” In her candid, friendly way, she surveyed them, one after another. “You are taller too, Laura, and I believe even your hair has grown.”

“It certainly has,” Laura admitted. Laura’s hair was extraordinarily long and thick. It hung in two light-brown braids, very glossy, not a hair out of place, to below Laura’s waist. At the tip of each braid was a big pale blue bow.