rs. That's how we
get our money for Christmas and the Fourth of July. Arthur whittles
things out of wood--he'll show you what he can do in a minute--he's a
crackajack. Rosie makes candy. And I make these paper things."

"And do you make much money?" Maida asked, deeply interested.

"Don't make any money at all," Dicky said. "The children pay us in
nails. I charge them ten nails a-piece for the easy things and twenty
nails for the hardest. Arthur can get more for his stuff because
it's harder to do."

"But what do you want nails for?" Maida asked in bewilderment.

"Why, nails are junk."

"And what's junk?"

The three children stared at her. "Don't you know what _junk_ is,
Maida?" Rosie asked in despair.

"No."

"Junk's old iron," Dicky explained. "And you sell it to the junkman.
Once we made forty cents out of one of these fairs. One reason we're
beginning so early this year, I've got something very particular I
want to buy my mother for a Christmas present. Can you keep a
secret, Maida?"

Maida nodded.

"Well, it's a fur collar for her neck. They have them down in a
store on Main street every winter--two dollars and ninetyeight cents.
It seems an awful lot but I've got over a dollar saved up. And I
guess I can do it if I work hard."

"How much have you made ordinarily?" Maida asked thoughtfully.

"Once we made forty cents a-piece but that's the most."

"I tell you what you do," Maida burst out impetuously after a moment
of silence in which she considered this statement. "When the time
comes for you to hold your fair, I'll lend you my shop for a day.
I'll take all the things out of the window and I'll clean all the
shelves off and you boys can put your things there. I'll clear out
the showcases for Rosie's candy. Won't that be lovely?" She smiled
happily.

"It would be grand business for us," Dicky said soberly, "but
somehow it doesn't seem quite fair to you."

"Oh, please don't think of that," Maida said. "I'd just love to do
it. And you must teach me how to make things so that I can help you.
You will take the shop, Dicky?" she pleaded. "And you, Rosie? And
Arthur?" She looked from one to the other with all her heart in her
eyes.

But nobody spoke for a moment. "It seems somehow as if we oughtn't
to," Dicky said awkwardly at last.

Maida's lip trembled. At first she could not understand. Here she
was aching to do a kindness to these three friends of hers. And
they, for some unknown reason, woul