As they
went in at the door, a small bell over it tinkled and a voice said, "In
a minute."
While they waited they looked about the shop, which was quite a
curiosity to Florence. In the window were jars of candy, red and white,
gingerbread horses, shoestrings, oranges, lemons, and dolls strung along
in a line, the largest in the middle and the smallest at each end;
besides these there were tops, whistles, writing paper, pencils, scrap
pictures, and a variety of other things, all jumbled up together.
Inside, the glass case and the shelves were full, and from the ceiling
hung rolls of cotton in tissue paper, toy wagons, jumping-jacks and
hoops.
"What a funny place," whispered Florence; but just then a funnier old
woman came in. Her face looked like a withered apple, it was so wrinkled
and rosy; her eyes were bright and her grey hair was combed back under a
high white cap. As she came behind the counter, Florence saw that one of
her hands was very much scarred, and the fingers bent. She wondered what
had happened to it.
"Well, little Dallas girl, it's you, is it? And how is my pretty with
her dimples and curls? Hm! Hm! Hm! The little Dallas girl," said the
old woman.
"Mamma wants four lemons, Mrs. Wills," said Dimple.
"Four lemons; four--four--" said the old woman, going to a box and
taking them out.
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