Part 6 (1/2)

Home-made candy is sure to be of good materials, and will seldom be harmful unless the eater takes a great quant.i.ty. Then the pleasure of making it counts for something.

Our little fair was held the day after the candy pull, and the boys put up a tent for us in Colonel Fay's grounds. Admission to the tent was five cents. We sold candy, cake, ice-cream, and--home-made bread, and our gains were nineteen dollars and ten cents. There were an ap.r.o.n table, and a table where we sold pin-cus.h.i.+ons and pen-wipers; but our real profits came from the bread, which the girls' fathers were so proud of that they bought it at a dollar a loaf. With the money which came from the fair, we sent two little girls, Dot and Dimpsie, our poorest children in Bloomdale, where most people were quite comfortably off, to the seaside for three whole weeks.

I do not know what we would have done in Bloomdale if Dot and Dimpsie had not had a father who would rather go off fis.h.i.+ng, or lounge in the sun telling stories, than support his family. Everybody disapproved of Jack Roper, but everybody liked his patient little wife and his two dear little girls, and we all helped them on.

There was no excuse for Jack. He was a tall, strong man, a good hunter, fisher and climber, a sailor whenever he could get the chance to go off on a cruise; but he would not work steadily. He did not drink, or swear, or abuse his wife; but he did not support her, and if people called him s.h.i.+ftless Jack, he only laughed.

As he was the only person in Bloomdale who behaved in this way, we did what mother calls condoning his offences--we called on him for odd jobs of repairing and for errands and extra work, such as lighting fires and carrying coals in winter, shoveling snow and breaking paths, weeding gardens in summer, and gathering apples in the fall. We girls determined to take care of Dot and Dimpsie, and help Mrs. Roper along.

They were two dear little things, and Mrs. Roper was very glad of our a.s.sistance.

CHAPTER VII.

KEEPING ACCOUNTS.

Mother's way in one particular is different from that of some other people. Veva Fay and Lois Partridge never have any money of their own.

They always ask their parents for what they want. If Lois' papa is in a happy frame of mind, he will give her a five-dollar gold piece, and say: ”There, go along, little girl, and buy as many bonbons as you please.

When that's gone, you know where to come for more.”

If he happens to be tired, or if something in the city has gone wrong that day, he will very likely meet her modest request with a ”Don't bother me, child! I won't encourage your growing up in foolish extravagance.”

Veva's father and mother make such a pet of her that they cannot bear to deny her anything, and she will often order pretty things when she goes to town, and is out walking with her cousins, just because they are pretty, and not because she has any real use for them. If there were any beggars here, Veva would empty that little silken purse of hers every time she saw them, but the club has forbidden her to spoil Dot and Dimpsie in that way. And she is too much of a lady to outs.h.i.+ne the rest of us.

Mother and father both believe in keeping an exact account of expenses.

Money is a great trust, and we must use it with care. Economy, which some people suppose to be another name for saving, is a beautiful picture word which signifies to guide the house. Mother thinks economy cannot be learned in a day. So when I was little she began by giving me ten cents every Sat.u.r.day morning. At the same time she put in my hand a little book and a pencil.

”See, daughter,” she said, ”thee is to set thy ten cents down on one page, and that will show how much thee has to spend. On the other thee is to put down the penny given in church, the penny for taffy, for fines.”

For fines? What could she mean?

Well, perhaps you will laugh; but my mother's way is never to let a child in her care use slang, or slam doors, or leave things lying about in wrong places, or speak unkindly of the absent. Half a cent had to be paid every time I did any of these things, and I kept my own account of them, and punished myself. I always knew when I had violated one of mother's golden rules by her grieved look, or father's surprised one, or by a little p.r.i.c.k from my conscience.

”And what was done with the fines?” asked Jeanie, when I told her of this plan.

”Oh, they went into our hospital fund, and twice a year--at midsummer and Christmas--they were sent away to help some good Sisters who spent their lives in looking after poor little cripples, or blind children, or who went about in tenements to care for the old and sick.”

At every week's end I had to bring my book to mother, add up what I had spent, and subtract the amount from my original sum. If both were the same, it was all right. If I had spent less than I received last Sat.u.r.day, then there was a balance in my favor, and something was there all ready to add to my new ten cents. But if I had gone into debt, or fallen short, or borrowed from anybody, mother was much displeased.

As I grew older my allowance was increased, until now I buy my gowns and hats, give presents out of my own money, and have a little sum in the savings-bank.

My housekeeping account while mother was absent was quite separate from any other of my own. Mother handed me the housekeeping books and the housekeeping money, with the keys, and left me responsible.

”Thee knows, Milly love,” she said, ”that I never have bills. I pay everybody each week. Thee must do the same. And always put down the day's expenses at the end of the day. Then nothing will be forgotten.”