“Haven’t any dulse?” Laura repeated with an appearance of being greatly shocked. “Do you mean to say you haven’t any dulse?”
Maida did not answer—she put her lips tight together.
“This is a healthy shop,” Laura went on in a sneering tone, “no mollolligobs, no apple-on-the-stick, no tamarinds, no pop-corn balls, no dulse. Why don’t you sell the things we want? Half the children in the neighborhood are going down to Main Street to get them now.”
She bustled out of the shop. Maida stared after her with wide, alarmed eyes. For a moment she did not stir. Then she ran into the living-room and buried her face in Granny’s lap, bursting into tears.
“Oh, Granny,” she sobbed, “Laura Lathrop says that half the children don’t like my shop and they’re going down to Main Street to buy things. What shall I do? What shall I do?”
“There, there, acushla,” Granny said soothingly, taking the trembling little girl on to her lap. “Don’t worry about anny t’ing that wan says. ’Tis a foine little shop you have, as all the grown folks says.”
“But, Granny,” Maida protested passionately, “I don’t want to please the grown people, I want to please the children. And papa said I must make the store pay. And now I’m afraid I never will. Oh, what shall I do?”
She got no further. A tinkle of the bell, followed by pattering footsteps, interrupted. In an instant, Rosie, brilliant in her scarlet cape and scarlet hat, with cheeks and lips the color of cherries, stood at her side.
“I saw that hateful Laura come out of here,” she said. “I just knew she’d come in to make trouble. What did she say to you?”
Maida told her slowly between her sobs.