ide
hard."

"Edward won't think so," laughed Tom. "Now what are we going to give
to Gertrude--"

"Hear him say 'Gertrude'," said Ethel Blue under her breath.

"She asked us to. Of course we call her by her name. She's going to
be our sister."

The Ethels looked quite depressed, for calling Miss Gertrude by her
first name was a privilege they knew they never should have.

"I was inquiring what we're going to give Gertrude as a Club. We
Watkinses are going to give her something as a family, and Delia and I
have each picked out a special present from us ourselves--"

"That's the way we're doing," came from the Mortons.

"--but I think it would be nice to give her something from the whole of
us, because if it hadn't been for the Club and the Club baby she
wouldn't have come here at all."

"Let's put our colossal intellects on it," urged Roger.

"If we could think of something that no one else would give her--"

"And that would remind her of us and the things the Club does."

"The Club makes furniture," laughed Roger, "but I shouldn't suggest
that we repeat our latest triumph and give her a sideboard made of old
boxes."

They all roared, but James came up with a serious expression after a
roll that took him some distance away from his friends.

"Boxes am ree-diculous," he remarked, "but furniture isn't. Isn't
there some piece of furniture that they'd like better than anything
else we could give them?"

"I've got an idea," announced Roger.

"Quick, quick; catch it!" and Tom tossed over his cap to hold any
notions that might trickle away from the main mass.

"Since we've been doing this furniture making for Rose House I've spent
a good deal of time in the carpenter shop on Main Street. You know it
belongs to the son of those old people down by the bridge, Mr. and Mrs.
Atwood."

"The ones we gave a 'show' for?" asked Delia.

"The same people. The son was pleased at our going there and he hasn't
minded my fooling round his place and he's given me a lot of points.
He makes good furniture himself."

"As good as yours?" asked James dryly.

"Go on!" retorted Roger. "He's a real joiner rather than a carpenter,
but there isn't any chance for a joiner in a town like Rosemont, so he
does any kind of carpentering."

"Go ahead, Roger. We don't care for the gentleman's biography."

"Yes, you do; it has some bearing on what I'm going to propose."

"Let her shoot, then."

"Mr. Atwood has a whole heap