“When you’re grand and sthrong,” Granny promised.

“I know just how I’ll furnish the room,” Billy said half to himself.

“Oh, Billy, tell me!” Maida begged.

“Can’t,” he protested mischievously.  “You’ve got to wait till it’s all finished before you see hide or hair of it.”

“I know I’ll die of curiosity,” Maida protested.  “But then of course I shall be very busy with my own business.”

“Ah, yes,” Billy replied.  “Now that you’ve embarked on a mercantile career, Miss Westabrook, I think you’ll find that you’ll have less and less time for the decorative side of life.”

Billy spoke so seriously that most little girls would have been awed by his manner.  But Maida recognized the tone that he always employed when he was joking her.  Beside, his eyes were all “skrinkled up.”  She did not quite understand what the joke was, but she smiled back at him.

“Now can we look at the things downstairs?” she pleaded.

“Yes,” Billy assented.  “To-day is a very important day.  Behind locked doors and sealed windows, we’re going to take account of stock.”

Granny Flynn remained in the bedrooms to make all kinds of mysterious measurements, to open and shut doors, to examine closets, to try window-sashes, even to poke her head up the chimney.

Downstairs, Billy and Maida opened boxes and boxes and boxes and drawers and drawers and drawers.  Every one of these had been carefully gone over by the conscientious Mrs. Murdock.  Two boxes bulged with toys, too broken or soiled to be of any use.  These they threw into the ash-barrel at once.  What was left they dumped on the floor.  Maida and Billy sat down beside the heap and examined the things, one by one.  Maida had never seen such toys in her life—­so cheap and yet so amusing.

It was hard work to keep to business with such enchanting temptation to play all about them.  Billy insisted on spinning every top—­he got five going at once—­on blowing every balloon—­he produced such dreadful wails of agony that Granny came running downstairs in great alarm—­on jumping with every jump-rope—­the short ones tripped him up and once he sprawled headlong—­on playing jackstones—­Maida beat him easily at this—­on playing marbles—­with a piece of crayon he drew a ring on the floor—­on looking through all the books—­he declared that he was going to buy some little penny-pamphlet fairy-tales as soon as he could save the money.  But in spite of all this fooling, they really accomplished a great deal.

They found very few eatables—­candy, fruit, or the like.  Mrs. Murdock had wisely sold out this perishable stock.  One glass jar, however, was crammed full of what Billy recognized to be “bulls-eyes”—­round lumps of candy as big as plums and as hard as stones.  Billy said that he loved bulls-eyes better than terrapin or broiled live lobster, that he had not tasted one since he was “half-past ten.”  For the rest of the day, one of his cheeks stuck out as if he had the toothache.