“See the folks, lots and lots of ’em, going to Fourth o’ July,” said he. “You can’t get any candy to-day, Gil Irwin.”
“Yes, I can. I know where I can get some, better’n you ever saw. There are some new ladies in that yellow house by the corner that sell it. I went there the other day with mamma, and got some.”
“Let’s go there, then,” said Jimmy.
They turned into a quiet street, and walked three or four blocks, till they came to a pretty buff cottage half covered with roses.
The “new ladies,”—really quite old ones,—had lately bought it to live in; and of course it was not a shop, and they kept nothing to sell. Only, as it happened, they had given Gilly a cake of maple-sugar the Thursday before, when he called there with his mamma.
“It doesn’t look a bit like a shop,” said Jimmy, as they walked up to the front door of this quiet house, and Gilly pounded on the screen-door. There was an electric bell at the side. Jimmy did not think candy-shops generally had electric bells. It was too late, however, to turn back.
A sweet old lady came into the hall, looking rather surprised. She naturally thought that only rude children would pound in this way for admission; yet these boys did not look rude nor disrespectful.
“How do you do, my dears? Oh, this is Gilbert Irwin, I think. But whom have you brought with you, Master Gilly?”
“My name is James Sanford Dunlee,” replied Jimmy, bowing low, hat in hand.
“Ah, yes, the minister’s son. I’m glad to see you both. Please walk in.”