She was a girl in years still, but tall for her age, and in thought and manner almost a young woman.  Her management of her uncles and Isaiah was now complete.  They no longer protested, even to each other, against the management and, in fact, gloried in it.  The cook and steward accepted her orders concerning the daily marketing and he and she audited the monthly bills.  The white house by the shore was a different place altogether now and “chicken-pox tablecloths” and tarnished silver were things of the forgotten past.  At the store she had become almost a silent partner, and Hamilton and Company’s “emporium” was, thanks to her judgment and tact, if not yet an up-to-date establishment, at least a shop where commodities to be sold were in places where they might be seen by prospective purchasers and readily located by the proprietors.

She spent a good deal of her time, except in school hours, at the store and much of the buying as well as the selling was done by her.  The drummers representing New York and Boston wholesale houses knew her and cherished keen respect for her abilities as a selector and purchaser of goods.

“Say,” said one of these gentlemen, after a lengthy session during which his attempts to work off several “stickers” had been frustrated by Mary-’Gusta’s common sense and discernment—­“Say, that girl of yours is a wonder, do you know it?  She’s the sharpest buyer I ever run across on my trips down here.  I don’t take a back seat for anybody when it comes to selling goods, and there’s mighty little I can’t sell; but I can’t bluff her.  She knows what’s what, you hear me!”

Shadrach, to whom this remark was made, chuckled.  “You bet you!” he declared, with enthusiasm.  “Anybody that gets ahead of our Mary-’Gusta has got to turn out afore the mornin’ watch.  She’s smart.  Zoeth and me ain’t aboard the same craft with her.”

“I should say not.  And you can’t get gay with her, either.  Most girls of her age and as good a looker as she is don’t object to a little ragging:  they’re used to it and they like it—­but not her.  She isn’t fishing for boxes of candy or invitations to dances.  That line of talk means good-by and no sale where she is.  Business and just business, that’s all there is to her.  How long are you goin’ to keep her here?”

“How long?  Why, forever, I hope.  What are you talkin’ about?”

The drummer winked.  “That’s all right,” he observed.  “You want to keep her, I don’t doubt:  but one of these days somebody else’ll be wanting her more than you do.  Mr. Right’ll be coming along here some time and then—­good night!  She’s young yet, but in a couple of years she’ll be a queen and then—­well, then maybe I’ll stand a better chance of unloading those last summer caps the house has got in stock.  Girls like her don’t stay single and keep store; there’s too much demand and not enough competition.  Gad!  If I wasn’t an antique and married already I don’t know but I’d be getting into line.  That’s what!”