“I shall never speak to her again,” Maida declared fervently. “But what shall I do about it, Rosie?—it may be true what she said.” “Now don’t you get discouraged, Maida,” Rosie said. “Because I can tell you just how to get or make those things Laura spoke of.” “Oh, can you, Rosie. What would I do without you? I’ll put everything down in a book so that I shan’t forget them.” She limped over to the desk. There the black head bent over the golden one. “What is dulse?” Maida demanded first. “Don’t you know what dulse is?” Rosie asked incredulously. “Maida, you are the queerest child. The commonest things you don’t know anything about. And yet I suppose if I asked you if you’d seen a flying-machine, you’d say you had.” “I have,” Maida answered instantly, “in Paris.” Rosie’s face wrinkled into its most perplexed look. She changed the subject at once. “Well, dulse is a purple stuff—when you see a lot of it together, it looks as if a million toy-balloons had burst. It’s all wrinkled up and tastes salty.” Maida thought hard for a moment. Then she burst into laughter, although the big round tear-drops were still hanging from the tips of her lashes. “There was a whole drawerful here when I first came. I remember now I thought it was waste stuff and threw it all away.” Rosie laughed too. “The tamarinds you can get from the man who comes round with the wagon. Mrs. Murdock used to make her own apples-on-the-stick, mollolligobs and corn-balls. I’ve helped her many a time. Now I’ll write you a list of stuff to order from the grocer. I’ll come round after school and we’ll make a batch of all those things. To-night you get Billy to print a sign, ‘_apples on the stick and mollolligobs to-day_.’ You put that in the window to-morrow morning and by to-morrow night, you’ll be all sold out.” “Oh, Rosie,” Maida said happily, “I shall be so much obliged to you!” Rosie was as good as her word. She appeared that afternoon wearing a long-sleeved apron under the scarlet cape. It seemed to Maida that she worked like lightning, for she made batch after batch of candy, moving as capably about the stove as an experienced cook. In the meantime, Maida was popping corn at the fireplace. They mounted fifty apples on skewers and dipped them, one at a time, into the boiling candy. They made thirty corn-balls and twenty-five mollolligobs, which turned out to be round chunks of candy, stuck on the end of sticks. “I never did see such clever children anywhere as there are in Primrose Court,” Maida said that night with a sigh to Granny. “Rosie told me that she could make six kinds of candy. And Dicky can cook as well as his mother. They make me feel so useless. Why, Granny, I can’t do a single thing that’s any good to anybody.” The next day the shop was crowded. By night there was not an apple, a corn-ball or a mollolligob left.