"Bet you can't jump off that!" said Sister, pointing to a home-made "horse" that Jimmie had ingeniously contrived.

(If you don't know the kind of "horse" they use in a gymnasium, ask your big brother or sister.)

"Bet I can!" challenged Brother.

They took turns jumping until they were tired, and they went about poking their little fingers and noses into whatever they could find to examine. Sister's investigations ended sadly enough, for she succeeded in pulling down a tray of butterflies that Jimmie was mounting (he had thought the gymnasium a safe place to keep them out of everyone's way), and now broken glass and crumbled butterflies were scattered all over the floor.

"Now you've done it!" cried Brother. "Jimmie will be just as mad!"

They found an old broom and swept the broken glass under one of the heavy floor pads. Then, very much subdued, they went into the house and were so quiet for the rest of the afternoon and through supper that Mother Morrison wondered if they were sick.

They were having dessert when the doorbell rang and Molly went to the door. She came back in a moment, her eyes round with wonder and looking rather frightened.

"It's Mr. Dougherty, sir," she said to Daddy Morrison. "He wants to see you."

Mr. Dougherty was Ridgeway's one and only policeman.



CHAPTER XVI

MISS PUTNAM COMPLAINS

At the mention of the policeman's name, Sister had given a gasp. No one noticed her as Daddy Morrison pushed back his chair and went into the hall.

"I wonder what he wants?" mused Mother Morrison, helping Ralph to blackberries.

"Sister, you're spilling juice on the tablecloth," reproved Dick. "Look out, there goes another spot."

Sister was trying to eat her berries, and also plan what to say when the policeman should send for her. She was sure that he had heard about the broken case of butterflies, for Jimmie, when greatly provoked at her long ago, had threatened to tell Mr. Dougherty of her next misdeed.

"I like Mr. Dougherty," announced Brother sweetly.

No broken butterflies lay heavy on HIS conscience.

Louise and Grace finished their dessert and were excused to go upstairs. The others lingered at the table because Daddy Morrison and Mr. Dougherty had gone into the living-room and they did not wish to disturb them.

"Lelia," called Daddy Morrison presently, "will you come here for a moment?"

Leila was Mother Morrison's name, and she rose and went across the hall quickly.

There was a low murmur of talk, an exclamation from Mother Morrison, and then the voice of Mr. Dougherty in the hall.

"Then I'm to tell the Chief that you'll drop in tonight?" he was saying. "All right, sir, that'll be satisfactory, of course. I'm not overly fond of this sort of work, but when a woman makes a complaint, you know, we haven't much choice."

"I understand," Daddy Morrison's deep, pleasant voice answered. "I'll get at the truth, and tell the Chief I'll be down at the town hall before ten o'clock. Good-night, Dougherty."

"Good-night, sir," said Mr. Dougherty and the screen door slammed.

Daddy Morrison came back to the dining-room.

"Rhodes and Elizabeth, I want to speak to you," he said very gravely. "Come up to my den."

Sister's small face went very white.

"I didn't mean to, honest I didn't, Jimmie!" she cried, hurling herself on that astonished young man and clinging desperately to his coat lapels. "I didn't know they were there till they fell over."

"What ails her?" Jimmie demanded, staring at his father. "What fell over?"

"Your case of butterflies," Brother informed him sadly "We were playing out in the barn and Betty reached up to open a window and the pole knocked the box off."

"Well, I must say—" began Jimmie wrathfully. "I must say! If you two don't learn to leave my things alone—"

"Save your lecture, Jimmie," advised his father quickly. "I didn't know about the butterflies, but I want to ask the children about something else. Come upstairs, now. You, too, Mother."

Brother and Sister followed Mother and Daddy Morrison upstairs, puzzled to know what was to be said to them. If the butterflies made so little difference to anyone—except Jimmie, who was perfectly boiling, it was plain to see—what else was there to scold them about? For that it was to be a scolding neither Brother or Sister doubted—hadn't Daddy called them "Rhodes" and "Elizabeth"?

"Now," said Daddy Morrison, when they were all in the little room he called his den and he had closed the door, although it was a warm night, "what were you doing this afternoon?"

"Playing in the barn," answered Brother. "It wasn't locked, Daddy."

"And then you broke Jimmie's case of butterflies," said Daddy. "What did you do then?"

"We swept the glass under a pad," said Sister, finding her voice. "Did Jimmie tell Mr. Dougherty?"

"Jimmie didn't know, and he certainly would not tell the police," declared Daddy Morrison, smiling a little in spite of his evident anxiety. "Miss Putnam, children, has made a complaint to the police that you tracked fresh tar over her porch and sidewalk, and she wants you to clean it off. That was why Mr. Dougherty came tonight."

"We won't either clean it off!" cried Brother angrily. "Serve her right to clean it off herself; mean old thing!"

"Don't let me hear you talk like that again," said Daddy Morrison sternly. "Did either of you have anything to do with putting tar on her porch or walk?"

"No, sir," replied Brother more meekly.

"But did you PLAY with the tar?" asked Mother Morrison. "Mr. Dougherty told us there were roofers mending the Gillson houses today, and using hot tar."

"Yes, they gave us some," said Brother honestly enough. "Didn't they, Betty? All the children had some, and we went by Miss Putnam's house and she yelled at us."

"But we didn't stop," added Sister. "We went right on and came home, didn't we, Roddy?"

"Yes," nodded Brother. "And that was before lunch, Daddy."

Daddy Morrison looked troubled.

"If you say you did not throw the tar, I believe you," he said gravely. "You may get into mischief and do wrong things, but I am sure you do not tell wrong stories. I don't see how Miss Putnam can be positive enough to give your names to the police, but I am going around to see her now and hear what she has to say. Then I'll stop in at the town hall and see the chief of police."

The telephone rang just then, and he went downstairs. It was only half-past seven, but Mother Morrison insisted that it was time for them to get ready for bed.

"Your father doesn't want you to speak of the tar to any of your playmates," she said as she brushed Sister's hair. "You must be very careful and not say a word against Miss Putnam. People may make mistakes easily, and we'll try to think as kindly of her as we can. Poor old lady! She must be terribly tormented by the children to dislike them so."

"I wish," wept Sister over her sandals as she unbuckled them, "I wish I hadn't smashed Jimmie's butterflies. Now he's mad at me."

"Well, you know he has asked you not to play in the barn when he isn't there to watch you," suggested Mother Morrison mildly. "However, you can make it up with Jimmie tomorrow; he never holds a grudge."

"Weed the onions for him," advised Brother wisely if sleepily. "He hates weeding."

"Maybe I will," decided Sister. "Daddy said tonight he couldn't go swimming again until he had worked in the garden."



CHAPTER XVII

MAKING UP WITH JIMMIE

Daddy Morrison went to see Miss Putnam after the children had gone to bed. The old lady was very sure that Brother and Sister had thrown the tar and she was so positive in her assertions that finally he asked her how she could be so sure.

"Well, one of the neighbors told me," Miss Putnam said reluctantly. "No, I don't know your children from any of the others, but she does. All children look pretty much alike to me—noisy, scuffling young ones! No, I couldn't tell you the neighbor's name—I wouldn't want to get her into any trouble."

When Daddy Morrison went away, she showed him the tar on her porch and sidewalk.

"Somebody ought to be made to clear it off," said Miss Putnam severely.

The chief of police, at the town hall, was a little angry that a complaint had been made merely on the word of a neighbor, who might easily be mistaken about the children she had seen throwing tar. However, as Brother and Sister said they had nothing to do with it, and Miss Putnam refused to believe them, there was nothing to do but let the complaint stand.

"Keep away from Miss Putnam's house and street," commanded Daddy Morrison at the breakfast table the next morning. "Don't go past her house except when it is absolutely necessary. We're not going to have any more bickering over this matter. Your mother and I believe you and that is all that is necessary. I shall be seriously displeased if I find you are talking it over with outsiders, especially other children."

Ralph and Dick had already taken their way to the station and now Daddy Morrison hurried to get his train.

"Why doesn't he want us to talk about it?" asked Sister, puzzled. "Couldn't I tell Nellie Yarrow?"

"I wouldn't," counseled Mother Morrison. "You see, dear, you can't help feeling that Miss Putnam has been unfair and every time you tell what she has done you will make someone else think she is unfair, too. Your friends will take your part, of course, and while you think Miss Putnam is decidedly 'mean,' she is acting right, according to her own ideas. It is never best to talk much about a quarrel of any kind."

Jimmie, who had been eating his breakfast in silence, rose and looked toward his mother.

"I suppose I have to work in that old garden?" he said aggrievedly.

"You know what your father said," replied Mother Morrison.

Jimmie did not like to weed, and the Morrison garden, when it came his turn, was often sadly neglected. He and Ralph and Dick were responsible for the care of the garden two weeks at a time during the growing season.

"Well, maybe if I stick at it this morning, I can go swimming this afternoon," muttered Jimmie. "Dad didn't say the whole thing had to be weeded today, did he?"

"He wants the new heads of lettuce transplanted, and all the onions weeded," answered Mother Morrison. "You know you were asked to tend to those a week ago, Jimmie."

Jimmie flung himself out of the house in rather a bad temper. He did not like to transplant lettuce and the onions must be weeded by hand. Other vegetables could be handled with a hoe, or the garden cultivator, but the eight long rows of new onions must be carefully done down on one's hands and knees.

"Jimmie!" said a little voice at his elbow as he got the trowel and the wheelbarrow from the toolhouse. "Jimmie?"

"Well, what do you want?" demanded Jimmie shortly.

"I'll—I'll help you," offered Sister timidly.

"You can't," said Jimmie. "Last time you crammed the lettuce plants in so hard they died over night."

"But I'll bring the water for 'em, in the watering-pot, and I can weed onions—I know how to do that," insisted Sister humbly.

"I won't need the watering-pot," said Jimmie more graciously. "I'll use the hose on them all tonight. I wonder if you could weed the onions?"

"Oh, yes!" Sister assured him eagerly. "You watch me, Jimmie."

She fell on her fat little knees, and began to pull the weeds from a long row of onions.

The sun was hot and the row was very long. Before she reached the middle of it, the perspiration was running down Sister's face, and her hands were damp and grimy.

"Look here," Jimmie called to her anxiously, on his way back for more lettuce plants, "don't you want to rest? And why don't you wear a sunbonnet, or something?"

Sister stood up, straightening her aching little shoulders.

"Sunbonnets are hot," she explained carefully. "And I don't want to rest, Jimmie. I'll go get a drink of water and then I'll weed some more."

"Bring me a drink, too, will you?" Jimmie called after her.

When she brought it he forgot to say thank you because one of his friends had ridden past on his bicycle and this reminded Jimmie that he had meant to do something to his own wheel that morning. So he drank the water Sister carried out to him without a word because he was cross, and when we're cross we do not always remember to be polite.

Sister went steadily at the weeding again, and after a while Jimmie finished the lettuce, and began to weed an onion row himself.

"You can stop if you want to now," he said to Sister presently. "Don't you want to play? I can finish these."

"I'm not going to stop till they're all done," announced Sister. "Molly says the only way to get anything finished is to use plenty of per—perservance!"

Jimmie laughed and glanced at her curiously.

"I guess you mean PERSEVERANCE" he suggested, "Well, Sister, you are certainly fine help. It begins to look as though I could go swimming this afternoon after all."

Surely enough, when Mother Morrison called to them that lunch was ready, they were weeding the last onion row.

"I can finish that in fifteen minutes," declared Jimmie gaily. "You're a brick, Sister! When you want me to do something for you, just mention it, will you?"

Sister beamed. She was hot and tired and she knew her face and hands were streaked and dirty. Brother had spent the morning playing with Nellie Yarrow and Ellis Carr, and Nellie's aunt had taken them to the drug store for ice-cream soda. Yet Sister, far from being sorry for her hot, busy morning in the garden, felt very happy.

"Now you don't mind, do you?" she asked Jimmie anxiously.

"Mind what?" he said, putting the wheelbarrow away in the toolhouse.

"About the butterflies," explained Sister.

"I'd forgotten all about them," declared Jimmie, hugging her.



CHAPTER XVIII

MICKEY GAFFNEY

Brother and Sister were very fond of playing school. They carefully saved all the old pencils and scraps of paper and half-used blank books that Grace and Louise and Jimmie gave them, and many mornings they spent on the porch "going to school."

Neither had ever been to school, and of course they were excited at the prospect of starting in the fall. Brother had had kindergarten lessons at home and he was ready for the first grade, while Sister would have to make her start in the Ridgeway school kindergarten.

"I wish summer would hurry up and go," complained Brother one August day. "Then we could really go to school."

"Well, don't wish that," advised Louise. "Goodness knows you'll be tired of it soon enough! Sister, what are you dragging out here?"

"My blackboard," answered Sister, almost falling over the doorsill as she pulled her blackboard—a gift from Grandmother Hastings—out onto the porch.

"Come on, Grace, we'll go in," proposed Louise, hastily gathering up her work. "If these children are going to play school there won't be any place for us! We'll go up to my room."

"I thought maybe you would be the scholars," said Brother, disappointed. "We never have enough scholars."

Louise was halfway up the stairs.

"You can play the dolls are scholars," she called back.

Mother Morrison had gone over to Grandmother Hastings to help her make blackberry jam, and Louise and Grace had been left in charge of the house.

"Let me be the teacher," begged Sister, when her blackboard was arranged to her liking. "I know how, Roddy."

"Well, all right, you can be teacher first," agreed Brother. "But after you play, then it's my turn."

Sister picked up a book and pointed to the blackboard.

"'Rithmetic class, go to the board," she commanded.

Both she and Brother knew a good deal about what went on in classrooms, because they had listened to the older children recite.

"How much is sixty-eight times ninety-two?" asked Teacher-Sister importantly.

Brother made several marks on the blackboard with the crayon.

"Nine hundred," he answered doubtfully.

"Correct," said the teacher kindly. "Now I'll hear the class in spellin'."

"I wish we had more scholars," complained Brother. "It's no fun with just one; I have to be everything."

"There's that little boy again—maybe he'd play," suggested Sister, pointing to the red-haired, barefooted little boy who stood staring on the walk that led up to the porch.

He could not see through the screens very clearly, but he had heard the voices of the children and, stopping to listen, had drawn nearer and nearer.

"That's Mickey Gaffney," whispered Brother. "Hello, Mickey," he called more loudly. "Want to come play school with us?"

Mickey came up on the steps, and flattened his nose against the screen door.

"I dunno," he said doubtfully. "How do you play?"

Sister pushed open the door for him, and Mickey rather shyly looked about him.

"It's nice and shady in here," he said appreciatively. "You got a blackboard, ain't you?"

"You should say 'have' a blackboard and 'ain't' is dreadful," corrected Sister, blissfully unaware that "dreadful" was not a good word to use. "You can use the chalk if you'll be a scholar, Mickey."

Mickey was anxious to draw on the blackboard and he consented to play "just for a little."

As Brother had said, two scholars were ever so much better than one and they had a beautiful time playing together. Mickey, in spite of his ragged clothes, and bad grammar, knew how to play, and he suggested several new things that Sister and Brother had never done.

"I been to school," boasted Mickey.

The children were anxious to have him stay to lunch with them and Louise, who had heard his voice and who came downstairs to see him, also invited him to stay. But he was too shy, and shuffled off just as Nellie Yarrow bounded up the front steps.

"Wasn't that Mickey Gaffney?" she asked curiously. "I shouldn't think you'd want to play with him. His folks are awful poor, and, besides, his father was arrested last year."

"Mickey isn't to blame for that," retorted Grace quickly. "Don't be a snob, Nellie; Brother and Sister had a good time playing with that little red-headed boy."

"But hardly any of the children play with him," persisted Nellie, who of course went to the public school. "You see last term Mickey was in my room, and he only came till about the middle of October—maybe it was November. Anyway, soon as it got cold he stopped coming.

"The teacher thought he was playing hooky, and she told Mr. Alexander, the principal. And he found out that the reason Mickey didn't come to school was 'cause his father didn't send him."

"Why didn't his father send him?" asked Sister.

"He wouldn't work, and Mickey didn't have any shoes to wear," explained Nellie. "Mr. Alexander got somebody to give Mickey a pair of shoes, but he wouldn't pay any attention to his lessons, and I know he wasn't promoted. I suppose he'll be in the first grade again this year."

Brother and Sister thought a good deal about Mickey after Nellie had gone home. They wondered if he wanted to go to school and whether he wished the summer would hurry so the new term might open.

"He liked to play school, so I guess he likes to go, really," argued Sister. "Playing is different," said Brother wisely. "He didn't have any shoes on this morning, did he?"

"No, that's so," Sister recalled. "And his clothes were all torn and dirty; maybe he hasn't any new suit to wear the first day."

All the Morrison children had always started school in new suits or dresses, and Mother Morrison had promised Brother a new sailor suit and Sister a gingham frock when they started off in September.

"Miss Putnam would say he 'scuffled,'" giggled Sister, remembering that was what Miss Putnam thought all children did with their feet.

"I wonder who really did put the tar on her porch?" murmured Brother. "She'll always think we did it, unless someone tells her something else."



CHAPTER XIX

A VERY SICK DOLL

"Madam," declared Brother seriously, "your child is very ill, I fear!"

He was the "doctor" and had been called to attend Muriel Elsie, Sister's best and largest doll. The children had started this new game one day.

"Oh, Doctor!" fluttered Sister, much worried. "Can't you give her something?"

The doctor sat down on the window-seat and considered.

"You ate all the peppermints up," he told Muriel Elsie's "mother." Then he went on: "And Louise hid the box of chocolates. No, I don't believe I can give her any medicines."

"Yes, you can," urged the little mother, hurriedly. "Go to the drug store; that's where Doctor Yarrow gets all his pills and things."

"Where—where is the drugstore?" stammered the doctor.

He was used to having Sister tell him. She usually planned their games.

"Why, it's—it's—" Sister looked about her desperately. Where should she say the drugstore was? "I know," she cried. "Over to Grandma's—hurry!"

Grandmother Hastings glanced up from her sewing in surprise as Brother and Sister tumbled up the steps of the side porch where she sat.

"Oh, Grandma!" and Sister fell over the Boston fern in her eagerness to explain the play. "Grandma, Muriel Elsie is ever so sick, and Roddy is the doctor; and we have to go to the drugstore to get medicine for her. Have you any? You have, haven't you, Grandma?"

"Dear me," said Grandmother Hastings, adjusting her glasses. "Muriel Elsie is very ill, is she? Well, now, what kind of medicine do you think she needs?"

"Muriel Elsie likes medicine that tastes good," explained Sister.

"Well, I must put on my thinking-cap," said dear Grandmother Hastings. "I didn't know I was keeping a 'drug store' till this minute, you see."

The children were as quiet as two little mice, so that Grandmother might think better.

"I know!" she cried in a moment. "I think I have the very thing! Come on out in the kitchen with me."

They pattered after her and watched while she lifted down a large pasteboard box from a cupboard. From this box she took several tiny round boxes, such as druggists use for pills.

"I think Muriel Elsie needs two kinds of medicine," said Grandmother gravely. "Now if you want to watch me put it up, there's nothing to hinder you."

Grandmother Hastings could play "pretend" beautifully, as Brother and Sister often said. Now she opened her shining white bread box and took out a loaf of white bread and one of brown. She washed her hands carefully at the sink, tied on a big white apron and brought the sugar and cinnamon from the pantry.

"Oh, Grandma!" squeaked Brother in joyful excitement. "What are you going to do?"

"Why, get some medicine ready for Muriel Elsie," answered his grandmother, making believe to be surprised. "Didn't you want me to?"

"Of course—don't mind him, Grandma," said Sister scornfully. "I'd like to keep a drug store when I grow up."

Grandmother cut a slice of bread from the white loaf and buttered it lightly. Then she sprinkled it with cinnamon and sugar, broke off a little piece and rolled that into several tiny round balls. They looked for all the world like real pills.

Then she cut a slice of brown bread and rolled that into little pills, too. She filled four of the small boxes.

"There!" she said, giving the boxes to Brother. "See that your patient takes a white pill and a brown one every two minutes and she will soon be well."

"Thank you very much, Grandma," said Brother, standing up to go. "Don't you want us to eat the trimmings?"

Grandmother laughed and said yes, they might eat the crusts, and she gave them each a slice of the brown bread spread with nice, sweet butter, too.

Brother and Sister hurried home and on the way over they changed to the Doctor and Muriel Elsie's worried mamma. They had been so interested in watching Grandmother Hastings make the pills that they had almost forgotten that they were playing.

They had left the patient in the porch swing—Sister said it was important to keep her in the fresh air—but when they went to take her up and give her a pill, she wasn't to be found.

"Perhaps Louise did something to her," decided Sister.

But Louise, questioned, declared she had not seen the doll.

"Is it Muriel Elsie you're looking for?" asked Molly, her head tied up in a sweep cap and a broom on her shoulder as she prepared to sweep the upstairs hall. "Why, I found her half an hour ago on the porch floor, her face all cracked into little chips."

"Muriel Elsie all chipped?" repeated Sister in wonder. "Why, she's my very best doll!"

"'Twas that imp of a Brownie did it," related Molly. "I was coming out to sweep the porch off, and he raced on ahead and went to jerking the cushions out of the hammock. First thing I knew there was a crash, and the doll was smashed on the floor. I saved you the pieces, Sister."

Brownie had a trick, the children knew, of snatching the sofa and swing cushions and flinging them on the floor whenever he thought anyone was ready to sleep. They had always considered this rather a clever trick for a little dog, and Sister could not find it in her heart to scold him even now.

"I suppose he didn't know Muriel Elsie was there," she said sorrowfully. "I had a cushion over her so she couldn't take cold. Where did you put her, Molly?"

Molly brought out the box with the unfortunate Muriel Elsie in it. Only her pretty face was damaged and that was badly chipped. Besides her whole head wobbled on her body.

Sister began to cry.

"Maybe Ralph can mend her," she sobbed. "My poor little Muriel Elsie! And we were playing she was sick, too."

"Yes, I guess Ralph can mend her," said Brother bravely. "He can mend lots of things. And you have all the pieces."

Sister took the box under her arm and went down to the gate to wait for Ralph, who was expected home on an early train.

"Well, I s'pose we might as well eat the pills," suggested Brother. "Muriel Elsie's certainly too sick for pills—she needs—operating on!"

So they ate the pills while they were waiting for Ralph, and they gave Brownie some, too. As Sister said he didn't mean to break the doll and he probably felt the way she did when she found she had knocked over Jimmie's case of butterflies.



CHAPTER XX

PLANS FOR MICKEY

The last pill had disappeared down little red lane, when Ralph was seen to turn the corner.

"Well, Chicks, why so solemn?" he asked cheerfully. "Sister, have you been crying?"

Sister held out the broken doll silently.

"Why, that's too bad!" exclaimed Ralph, sitting down on the step beside his little sister. "What happened to Muriel Elsie?"

"Brownie jerked her out of the hammock and she fell on her head," Brother explained. "Can you mend her, Ralph?"

"I'm afraid not," said Ralph regretfully. "Mending faces is ticklish work; I might manage an arm or leg, but not a FACE. I tell you, Sister—you take Muriel Elsie down to the Exchange and see if Miss Arline can't mend her. Leave her there, ask how much it will cost and when she will be ready, and I'll give you the money."

"I'll go with you, Betty," Brother offered. "Let's go now,"

Molly tied the box up with paper and string and hand in hand Brother and Sister started.

"Certainly I can mend the dollie," announced Miss Arline when they reached her house and had shown her Muriel Elsie and explained the accident. "I think I'll take her into the city with me tomorrow to a doll's hospital. You come for her a week from today and she will be ready for you. I can't tell how much it will cost, you tell your brother, until I find out what the hospital will charge me."

On their way home, Brother and Sister met Mickey Gaffney. They had not seen him since he played school with them, and the sight of him at once suggested something to Brother.

"Say, Nellie Yarrow says you're going to be in the first grade at school this term," he said to Mickey. "I'm going to be in first grade, too. We'll be in the same room."

"Don't know as I'm going to school," declared Mickey perversely. "I didn't go much last year."

"Wouldn't—wouldn't your 'father let you?" suggested Sister timidly.

Mickey flushed a little.

"Aw, it wasn't so much his fault, leastways he said he didn't care if I went," he muttered, digging his bare foot into the gravel on one side of the stone flagging. "After they had him arrested he said I had to go."

"Didn't you want to go?" urged Brother, round-eyed. "I think it's lots of fun to go to school."

"Guess you wouldn't think so if you didn't have some shoes and a good coat," retorted Mickey. "I ain't going to school this year, either, if I can't have things to wear. None of the boys go barefoot."

"But Nellie says Mr. Alexander got some shoes for you to wear," said Brother quickly.

"How would you like to wear somebody else's shoes?" inquired Mickey with scorn. "They belonged to Ted Scott and he was always looking at my feet when I wore 'em. I want some shoes of my OWN!"

"Couldn't your father buy you just one pair?" Sister asked.

"No, he couldn't," Mickey answered desperately. "He doesn't like to work, and we had to sell Ted Scott's shoes this summer for fifty cents. When the old man does work it takes all he makes to buy grub. My mother takes in washing to pay the rent."

Mickey told them this jerkily, as though against his will, and kind-hearted little Brother thought perhaps they had asked too many questions.

"Maybe you could earn money yourself," he said presently. "I'm going to ask Daddy. You just wait, Mickey."

"I wouldn't mind earning SOME money," admitted Mickey cautiously. "But it takes a LOT for new shoes. And they got to be new."

Brother and Sister hurried home, eager to see Daddy Morrison, and ask his advice. They found him reading on the porch and waiting for dinner.

"Oh, Daddy!" Sister rushed for him. "Daddy, how can Mickey Gaffney earn enough money to buy a whole pair of new shoes?"

"A whole pair of shoes?" repeated Daddy, laughing. "Why, Daughter, I suppose a way can be found, if he must have them. Who is this Mickey Gaffney?"

Sister told about Mickey, and Brother helped her, and when they had finished, Daddy Morrison knew all about Mickey and his school troubles.

"Being red-headed and Irish, I don't suppose he will let me GIVE him the money," he mused. "Let's see, what can a chap that age do? He must be seven or eight years old—I've seen him hanging around the station, ready to carry suitcases. I wonder if he couldn't help the boys with the garden?"

"I'll pay him if he can weed," grinned Jimmie, who had been listening. "And Ralph was saying last week that he wasn't going to have time to take his turn at garden work—he wants to go in on an earlier train."

"All right, we'll tell Ralph that Mickey is open for an engagement," said Daddy Morrison. "We'll start him in the garden and then perhaps other odd jobs will turn up."

"Dinner is ready, folks," called Mother Morrison, and they all went into the dining-room.

"I want Mickey to earn a whole lot of money," declared Sister that night as they were getting ready for bed. "Pulling weeds is such slow work. He'll have to pull an awful lot to work an hour."

After Mother had kissed them good-night and put out the light, a big idea came to Sister.

"I know what we'll do!" she asserted, sitting up in bed. "Listen, Roddy, Ellis Carr said his father said Miss Putnam worked too hard. Well, why can't Mickey help her?"

"Maybe he can," murmured Brother sleepily. "Only she wont like him, 'cause he's a boy."



CHAPTER XXI

BROTHER AND SISTER PAY A CALL

Sister's first thought in the morning was Mickey and Miss Putnam. "It's too bad he is a boy," she admitted, referring to Mickey, "because Miss Putnam doesn't like children. But if Mickey was grown up he wouldn't have to have shoes to wear to school, because he wouldn't go to school."

"Sister, your reasoning is all right," Ralph praised her. "Perhaps you will grow up to be a lawyer like your father and brothers."

"Oh, no," said Sister positively and sweetly. "When I grow up I'm going to be a farmer."

After breakfast, she helped Brother clear the table and brush the crumbs, and then she dragged him out to the porch steps to consult with him.

"We have to go see Miss Putnam," she whispered. "About Mickey, you know."

Brother looked frightened.

"She won't let us in," he said in alarm. "She thinks we threw tar on her porch. 'Sides, can't Mickey go see her?"

"No, we want to have it all fixed for him," explained Sister patiently. "Mickey is scared of her, too, and maybe he wouldn't go. But if she says yes, he can work for her, he'll go work 'cause he wants the shoes. Come on, Roddy, I'm not afraid."

"Will you do the talking?" suggested Brother.

Sister promised to "do the talking," and without saying anything to anyone in the house, the small boy and girl set out for the "terrible" Miss Putnam's.

In her heart of hearts, Sister was very much afraid of the cross old lady, and when they turned in at her gate she was almost ready to run home. But she remembered Mickey and how sadly he needed the new shoes, so she lifted the brass knocker on the white door and waited as bravely as she could.

"Land sakes!" gasped Miss Putnam when she came to the door. "What on earth do you want?"

This wasn't a very gracious welcome, and Sister stuttered a little from nervousness as she said they wanted to speak to her.

"Come in then," said Miss Putnam shortly. "Mind you wipe your feet, and don't scratch the rounds of the chairs with your heels."

She led them into a tiny sitting-room and Brother and Sister sat down on two hard, straight chairs while Miss Putnam took the only rocker.

"Well?" she asked expectantly.

"We've come about Mickey Gaffney," said Sister hurriedly. "He hasn't any shoes to wear to school and he wants to earn money to buy 'em. He's going to work for us, some, but school starts in about three weeks and we're afraid he won't have enough money."

"And couldn't he work for you?" chimed in Brother bravely, determined not to let his sister have to do all the talking.

"Why, I do need a man to do odd jobs," said Miss Putnam quite mildly. "Is he very strong?"

You see, she hadn't listened very carefully to Sister, or else she didn't stop to think—no man wants shoes to wear to school.

"Yes'm, he's pretty strong," Sister assured her earnestly. "He's eight years old and big for his age."

"Eight years old!" echoed Miss Putnam. "Why, that's a mere BABY! What can such a child do to earn money?"

"Mickey can run errands and sweep and weed the garden," recited Brother, gaining confidence since Miss Putnam neither shouted at them nor chased them from her house. "He can dry dishes, too—he says he does 'em for his mother."

Miss Putnam thought for a few moments.

"I'm going to need someone to do errands for me this winter when I can't get around," she said slowly. "And I've about broke my back in the garden this summer. But boys are noisy, careless creatures—I don't know as I could stand a boy around me."

"Oh, Mickey is nice," Sister hastened to explain. "He's going to grow up and support his mother. He won't make any more noise than he can help."

Miss Putnam smiled grimly.

"I guess that's true," she said. "Well, tell your Mickey to come round and see me, and if he doesn't charge too much, perhaps we can suit each other."

Brother and Sister trotted home, well-pleased with the success of their errand. It was something to have secured the promise of more work for Mickey.

"There he is now!" exclaimed Brother, spying the flaming red head of the Gaffney boy ahead of them. "Hey, Mickey!"

Mickey was on his way to the grocery store for soap, he informed them.

"Wait a minute," said Brother. "We want to tell you—Daddy says you can help Jimmie and Ralph in our garden and they will pay you, by the hour, Ralph says. And Miss Putnam says you can run errands for her."

"Miss Putnam?" repeated Mickey, surprised. "Miss Putnam wouldn't have a boy in her yard."

"Yes, she will," declared Sister. "She said so. And you can run errands after school this winter when she can't get around—she said so, didn't she, Roddy?"

Brother nodded.

"It would be kind of nice to have a job this winter, wouldn't it?" said Mickey thoughtfully. "My mother would like that. Well, if you're sure Miss Putnam won't come out with a broom when she sees me, I'll go."

"No, she won't," Sister assured him. "I don't believe she's so cross when you know her."

"'Cept about tar," said Brother sorrowfully.

Mickey looked at them, mystified.

"What about tar?" he asked. "Has Miss Putnam any?"



CHAPTER XXII

MICKEY OWNS UP

Brother told Mickey the tar incident in a few words.

"And you can't make her believe Betty and I didn't put it on her porch," he concluded. "She's just 'termined we did it."

"And she sent the policeman to your house and all," mused Mickey. "Gee!"

His face was rather red and he looked at Brother and Sister queerly. He opened his mouth as though to say something, then apparently changed his mind.

"Well, we have to go home," declared Brother. "You'll go see Miss Putnam, won't you, Mickey?"

"I suppose so," muttered Mickey. "So long!"

"Maybe he doesn't like it," said Sister as they went on toward their house.

"Oh, yes he does," replied Brother confidently. "He'll go, you see if he doesn't."

Mickey Gaffney did go see Miss Putnam, and something about him made the old lady like him right away. She engaged him to do errands for her an hour in the morning, and again in the afternoon, and she paid him fifteen cents an hour. If he weeded in the garden that was to be extra.

"Will you have enough for your shoes?" asked Sister anxiously one morning, when Mickey came to do some weeding in the garden for Jimmie.

"My, yes, and I guess I can buy my little sister a pair," said Mickey proudly.

"Have you a little sister?" demanded Brother and Sister together. "How old is she?"

"Five," answered Mickey, getting down on his hands and knees and going at the weeds in a business-like way. "She'll be five next month."

"Isn't that nice!" commented Sister. "I'm five years old, too."

Mickey avoided her eyes and was apparently too busy to talk much to them, so by and by Brother and Sister ran off and left him to his weeding.

If they had stayed, they might have seen Mickey throw down his weeding-fork suddenly and march out of the garden.

"Don't believe that boy is going to stick to his work," said Molly to Mother Morrison. "He's gone already."

But Mickey was hurrying along toward Miss Putnam's house and did not care very much what anyone thought of him. He didn't think kindly of himself at that moment.

"Why, Mickey!" Miss Putnam looked up at him in amazement as he came around to the back porch where she was sweeping a rug. "What's the matter, child, don't you feel well?"

"I feel all right," he said briefly. "Say, Miss Putnam, you know that tar that was on your porch? I threw it!"

"You—you what?" gasped Miss Putnam. "You threw that hot tar all over my clean porch and walk? Why, Mickey!"

"Yes'm," muttered Mickey miserably.

"But why?" insisted Miss Putnam. "And Mrs. Graham told me that the Morrison boy and girl did it."

"Guess she thought she saw 'em—it was most dark," said Mickey. "But it wasn't Roddy and Betty. I did it, and Nina, my little sister, helped me."

"But why?" persisted Miss Putnam. "I never should have thought it of you, Mickey, never."

Strange as it may seem, Miss Putnam really liked Mickey. He was so willing and so cheerful and so quick that the old lady who had had to do all the work of her small home so long that she had forgotten how it felt to have younger hands helping her, began to look forward to Mickey's coming every day.

And Mickey liked Miss Putnam. He found she was very fair about time and reasonable about the amount of work she expected him to accomplish. The fact that he was barefooted did not seem to bother her and she treated him exactly as though his clothes were whole instead of torn and poorly patched.

Now when she asked him why he had thrown the tar, it was hard for him to tell the truth. But he did. When Mickey once made up his mind to do a thing, he always went through with it.

"It was 'count of the barbwire," Mickey explained in a low voice. "I didn't know you put it up, and I climbed the fence one night, to scare you through the window, and I thought you'd run out and chase me. And I tore my coat on the wire and scratched my face. So after that I was always looking for a chance to get even."

"When I saw the tar, I came back after supper and made Nina carry it for me while I slung it—we had a tin bucket. I'm awful sorry, Miss Putnam; honest I am!"

"But—did you let me send a policeman to the Morrison's house?" asked Miss Putnam uncertainly.

"I never knew about that till just before I came here to work," said Mickey earnestly. "And ever since I've felt mean as dirt, not telling. Nina is just as old as Betty. It wasn't her fault—Nina's, I mean; she does whatever I tell her to."

"Well, I'll go call on Mrs. Morrison this afternoon," said Miss Putnam briskly. "And then I'll take down that wire. I don't need it now anyway, for the children don't bother me since you're here. I guess they're afraid you'd catch them if you should chase them," she smiled grimly.

"And I can go right on working?" suggested Mickey anxiously.

"Of course, child. Why not?" said Miss Putnam.

That settled Mickey's last worry. With a hurried "thank you," he dashed away, out through the yard and up the street. He wanted to find Brother and Sister and tell them what he had done.

"My goodness, I think you're ever so brave," said Sister when she had heard his story. "I'd be scared to death to tell Miss Putnam like that."

"Pooh, she's all right," answered Mickey. "I like her. And now I have a lot of time to make up—most half an hour."

"School begins two weeks from today," announced Brother, watching Mickey tackle an onion row. "You're sure you're going, Mickey?"

"Of course," said Mickey proudly. "I'll stop for you the first morning just to prove it."

"And we'll go every day and never be late once, will we?" chimed in Sister.

But whether they were able to keep this good resolution or not remains to be seen. If you are interested to know you will have to read the next book about them, called "BROTHER AND SISTER'S SCHOOL DAYS."



THE END