"All right, then; go ahead," said Tom, cheerfully. "Well, you know, Tom," began Dot, in her sweet, timid voice; "there's a secret in there," pointing toward the house, "and I never found it out till this morning." "So you found it out, did you? Well, I told 'em you would." "I would n't, but for the bill." "You would n't what?" asked Tom, who was rubbing away again. "I'll tell you about that afterward. When I went into the sitting-room, Mamma and Margie were sewing." Dot sat a long time on the hay. 'Tom always thinks everything's going to come out all right," she said, determined to be miserable. "He does n't know anything about money. Margie says so, and I know myself he does n't, 'cause I once owed him five cents for weeks, and, when I went to pay him, he 'd forgotten all about it, and said I must have dreamed it. He 's gone off now to sleigh-ride and does n't care how hard we 're all workin'," and the little needle flew faster than ever. “I just know he thinks Dr. Cogswell is n't going to charge, but he is, for here 's one bill and he's probably got another all ready. 66 "He could just as well not charge," she went "That certainly did n't surprise you!" laughed on, "for Edith Olcott told me he was ever 'n' ever Tom. "O Tom! how can you make fun of it all? Mamma looked just ready to cry, and—oh, oh, oh, what can we ever do about it!" as she threw herself face downward on the hay, and sobbed as though her little heart would break, while Tom stood by in speechless astonishment, wondering why the words "Two dollars a visit " seemed mingled with her sobs. "Does she know, after all?" he asked himself. "I must n't forget my promise to Mother, but I must give the child some comfort," he thought, as he went over toward the little blue cloak on the hay. Come, Dot," said he, tenderly. "Don't cry. You have n't told me yet what the matter is. Now we'll sit right up here, while you tell Tom all about it." After a while, Dot managed to say: "Does n't Dr. Cogswell charge people who are ill two dollars every time he goes to see them?" "Something like that, I believe," answered Tom, wonderingly. "It's exactly that," said Dot, feeling for the bill. "O Tom, we must owe him hundreds of dollars! There was a queer look in Tom's eyes. 66 I suppose we do,” he said. "But have we got the money to pay him?" questioned Dot, the brown eyes swimming again. "No, I don't believe we have." so rich, and that he 's got a house in the city even prettier than this. But how could one be?" she wondered. "How could any room be lovelier than the one Mrs. Crane took Edith and me into the other day? the little one with the window looking on the lake, and the little bed with curtains and everything blue, carpet and all. Dr. Cogswell calls it his little sister's room, and she 's coming in the spring." The little fingers never did better work than that day, for "Mamma would n't have told me they needed it if they did n't," Dot kept assuring herself. "Tom just wanted to comfort me. He does n't know how hard they 're workin' and cryin'." That night, Dot added to her prayer the words, "O God, please don't let it be more than we can pay." 66 "Let what?" asked Mamma, as she tucked her in bed. "The doctor's bill," whispered Dot, her arms very tight about Mrs. Ledyard's neck. Mrs. Ledyard smiled. She thought Dot was half-asleep, so she tiptoed quietly down-stairs to the library, and there found Tom telling Margie about Dot's trouble. The young doctor must have been there, too, or heard of it in some way, for he happened in the next morning right after breakfast, and the first thing he said was: "I'm going to have my bill settled to-day, Then, what are we going to do?" said Dot, little Miss Dot," as with quite a grave face he with another sob. took out his memoranda. It's all coming out "Let me see," he mused, I began coming in May. Two visits a day, till-why it's nearly Christmas, is n't it? Now, how much should you think it would come to?" "Hundreds!" said poor little Dot, faintly. "We want to be business-like," said Dr. Cogswell; 'suppose you get your slate and figure it." Dot ran. "He is n't going to let us off a penny," she moaned. Dot smiled. "Then there is n't any bill?" she asked Tom. "" Nary a bill," said Tom; "but can't you think of anything else the letters might stand for?" "No," said happy, stupid little Dot. "I can,' ," cried Don, catching sight of some glances being exchanged, and Margie's pretty "Now, let's do a little sum in arithmetic," said cheeks aglow. Margie Cogswell!" the doctor. "What does M. stand for?" "One thousand," said staggered little Dot, pushing the crochet-work way down in her pocket. "Very good," said the doctor. Now, what does C. stand for?" "One hundred," said Dot, trying to be brave. "And altogether?" was the next question. "Eleven hundred," said Dot, tearfully. "H'm," coughed Dr. Cogswell. "Now, can you think of anything else they might stand for?" "No, sir," said Dot. "Why yes, you can, Dot," cried Donald, who had just been wheeled into the room. "M. C.!" clapping his hands. "Why, Merry Christmas, don't you see?" 66 Then they all laughed, and the doctor caught Dot up and set her on his shoulder, and pranced with her into the cozy sitting-room. Pretty soon Don was wheeled into the sunny bay-window, and there they all sat the rest of the morning. Dot had to submit to a good deal of teasing, but she was very happy notwithstanding, and wrote in her diary that night, in such big letters that she went right over two or three of the following days: "The doctor was n't coming to see Donnie, after all, and there was n't any bill. I am going to be bridesmaid and wear white. There is n't any little sister but me, and I'm agoing to have the little blueroom, whenever I want to go there to visit." TINKEY lay under a wide-spreading apple tree, upon a bed of half-dried grass, that was not yet hay, but sending out the most delicious perfume of clover blossoms. Overhead, a clear blue sky, with soft white clouds dotting it here and there, and a blazing July sun, were only half visible through the thick leaves of the apple tree that made a cool shade where Tinkey was lying. It was holiday time, and all the long, hot days 'were free from Latin grammar or arithmetic; free to make fishing-parties, to play cricket, to toss hay, or to do as Tinkey was doing-lie about out-doors and find pleasure in pure idleness. It is not to be denied that Tinkey was lazy. He dearly loved a morning nap after the getting-up bell had sounded; he liked to drop into soft chairs or upon the sofa, and dream of wonderful things he was going to do. All the activity and energy of great deeds lay in the future for Tinkey, who fully intended to become in some way famous when a man. In the meantime, he liked to lie under the apple tree, thinking. First, he counted all the green apples in sight, and wondered how soon they would be ripe; then he watched the clouds and leaves waving softly in the gentlest of summer breezes, and then he speculated as to whether Mrs. Davidson would have ice-cream at the party to which Tinkey and his brothers and sisters were invited that afternoon. It was to be a gathering of all the boys and girls for miles around-a sort of picnic on the beautiful grounds that surrounded Mrs. Davidson's large house, and a garden tea-party. "It must be lovely to be as rich as Mrs. Davidson," thought Tinkey, lazily, "and I might have had as much money once, if I had only wished for it. If I had another such a chance 'Well, what would you do with it if you had?" Tinkey sat bolt upright and stared. That sharp, clear voice was certainly one he had heard before, and right in front of him, daintily balanced upon the tiniest of hay-cocks, was the little old-woman fairy, in her red cloak and pointed cap, who came in a butterfly-drawn car through the air. Tinkey did not see the car, but he was sure it was not far away. "Good-morning, ma'am," he stammered, when he could find voice enough to speak. "I hope you are well?" "Now," said the fairy, "did you ever hear of a sick fairy? Of course I am well, and never had a pain in my life. It is great, clumsy people like you who are ill half the time. But I can't stand chattering here. I've an engagement in Japan in half an hour, but as I was passing I heard you sighing for another chance to make a goose of yourself" "It was a calf," corrected Tinkey, "and I do not want to make a goose of myself. Oh!" and his eyes grew so round, and stuck out so far, it was really wonderful that they did not drop out. "Oh! Are you going to let me have another wish?" "H'm!" said the fairy, rubbing her sharp little nose with a handkerchief that looked like the leaf of a tiny jessamine, "you don't seem to make much out of one wish. Suppose I give you a dozen or twenty." "Oh!" cried Tinkey. "I am "Yes," said the little old woman. going to see to-day how much you are to be trusted with having your own way. So, between now and sunset, I am going to let you have everything you wish for. Only, remember this: you can have but one wish for one thing. No 'takings back,' you understand. So if you wish yourself a goose, a goose you will have to remain." But, while he away when the meals were over. "Oh dear!" sighed lazy Tinkey. "I wish I was at the table." The wish was scarcely formed before he felt himself lifted up and shot across the meadow, in at the kitchen door, and plump into his chair, with a whizzing rapidity that took his breath away, and raised a serious doubt in his mind whether walking was not preferable to this sort of fairy locomotion. There was a great confusion of voices all through dinner, the children hurrying through the meal to dress for Mrs. Davidson's, and fidgeting until the dishes were cleared away and their mother took the younger ones to the nursery. "Your clothes are all on your bed, Tinkey," she said, as she went upstairs, "and remember your new suit must be your best one all summer." Excited by the prospect of meeting all his young friends and school-fellows, Tinkey rushed to his room, entirely forgetting the fairy and her promise. He had quite resolved to make no more foolish "Everything I wish for!" cried Tinkey. "I do wishes, but to steal a quiet hour before sunset and not believe fairy-land holds all I want!" wish for the very best fortune that could come to a "You can try. But you had better think over boy. the matter before you begin! Good-bye." Then the fairy-car floated down from the apple tree, and a moment later Tinkey saw it float up again, higher and higher, till it was quite lost in a soft, fleecy cloud. Lazily wondering if that was an air-line to Japan, Tinkey tried to decide upon the treasures he should collect between that hour and sunset. Wealth, a fine house, a pony, a thousand boyish desires floated through his brain, but he resolved to do nothing hastily. Still it was a temptation to test his power, and he said, with an air of command: "I wish for a plate of ice-cream." There it was, right in his hand, cold, white, delicious, and, to Tinkey's amazement, no matter how fast he ate, the white heap upon the plate did not grow any smaller. He might sit all day and eat ice-cream, if he wished; but when he had had enough, and put down the plate on the hay, it melted in a secondspoon, plate, and cream vanishing like a dew-drop in the sun. Tinkey wondered if all fairy dishes were "cleared up" in this way, and laughed to think what a saving of house-work it would be if dishes dropped down upon the table filled with food, and quietly melted The new suit, a pretty light gray, lay upon the "I WISH FOR A PLATE OF ICE-CREAM.' bed, with the clean shirt, collar, and cuffs, a blue silk neck-tie and a snowy pocket-handkerchief, while on a chair were new shoes, shining like a mirror. Scrubbed to the perfection of cleanliness, clean linen nicely adjusted, Tinkey took up the pretty gray pants, and turned them around admiringly. It was the very first city-made suit he had ever possessed, his usual dress being the outgrown clothing of his older brother. But this one suit was all his own, made for him, fitting him, and he handled it carefully. It was still buttoned up, as it had come home, and, taking his seat upon the side of the bed, Tinkey unbuttoned one button, a second, but the third seemed to be too large for the button-hole, and would not come through. new blue suspenders dangling provokingly out of reach. Tinkey was ready to cry, but, instead, said: "I wish for another pair of trousers." 66 But the wish was unheard or unheeded in fairyland, and he sadly remembered that he could not have two wishes for any one thing. Why can't I remember to think before I speak?" thought Tinkey, ruefully tak ing up his every ""1 WISH I WAS AT THE TABLE. He twisted it and pushed it, coaxed it and jerked it, pushed it to the right, pulled it to the left, till he got red in the face, lost his temper, and cried aloud : "Bother the old trousers ! I wish they were in Jericho." One jerk freed them from Tinkey's hold, and they soared into the air, as if with wings, escaping his outstretched hands, and flying through the open window like some huge, awkward bird, the day trousers, cast aside with such contempt. They seemed to have grown shabbier in the few moments they had been on the floor. The knees had never looked so white and thin, the edges so frayed, the spots so big. "Perhaps they wont show much with a new coat and vest," thought Tinkey; but they were drawn on very slowly, and it required all the boy's manliness to keep back the tears. A call from downstairs hurried him. "We're all ready, Tinkey! Come!" All ready! There was no time then to lose, for if his father had the carryall harnessed up, he would not like to wait. Tinkey caught up his new shoes and thrust in one foot. A new shoe is not the very best thing to try to put on in a hurry, and so he found it. Voices from downstairs were impatiently shouting: Tinkey! Tinkey," as he tugged violently, but without avail, at the shoe his mother had thought had better be one size larger." 66 "Oh, come on!" said Tinkey. "I wish the shoes were twice as big!" On slipped the shoe as easily as if it had been greased, Tinkey's foot lost in its suddenly in |