aimed, when she had finished. "That would do it, I
honestly believe. How in the world did you ever think of that scheme?
Say, you really are a wonder at managing. You could manage a big
business and make it go, I'm sure. How do you do it? Where do you get
your ideas?"

Mary laughed. His praise pleased her.

"I don't know," she answered. "I just think them out, I guess. I do
like to manage things for people. Sometimes I do it more than I should,
perhaps. Poor Isaiah Chase, at home in South Harniss, says I boss him to
death. And my uncles say I manage them, too--but they seem to like it,"
she added.

"I don't wonder they do. I like it, myself. Will you help manage my
affairs between now and Commencement? There'll be a whole lot to manage,
between the club and the dance and all the rest of it. And then when you
go to Commencement you can see for yourself how they work out."

"Go to Commencement? Am I going to Commencement?"

"Of course you are! You're going with me, I hope. I thought that was
understood. It's a long way off yet, but for goodness' sake don't say
you won't come. I've been counting on it."

Mary's pleasure showed in her face. All she said, however, was:

"Thank you very much. I shall be very glad to come."

But Commencement was, as Crawford said, still a good way off and in the
meantime there were weeks of study. The weeks passed, some of them, and
then came the Easter vacation. Mary spent the vacation in South Harniss,
of course, and as there was no Christmas rush to make her feel that
she was needed at the store, she rested and drove and visited and had a
thoroughly happy and profitable holiday. The happiness and profit were
shared by her uncles, it is unnecessary to state. When she questioned
them concerning business and the outlook for the coming summer, they
seemed optimistic and cheerful.

"But Isaiah says there are two new stores to be opened in the village
this spring," said Mary. "Don't you think they may hurt your trade a
little?"

Captain Shadrach dismissed the idea and his prospective competitors with
a condescending wave of the hand. "Not a mite," he declared scornfully.
"Not a mite, Mary-'Gusta. Hamilton and Company's a pretty able old
craft. She may not show so much gilt paint and brass work as some of the
new ones just off the ways, but her passengers know she's staunch and
they'll stick by her. Why, Isaiah was sayin' that a feller was tellin'
him only yesterday that it didn't make