I made in all $2.34. One dollar and fifty cents on entertaining, and
eighty-four cents on apples.

The entertaining was this way. Mrs. Dick Moon is twin to the lady who
lived in a shoe. Her house isn't far from the Asylum, and I like her
real much; but she isn't good on management. Everything on the place
just runs over everything else, and nothing is ever ready on time.

She has money--that is, her husband has, which Miss Katherine says isn't
always the same thing. And she has servants and a graphophone and a
pianola, but she doesn't really seem to have anything but children, and
they are everywhere.

They are the sprawly kind that lie on their stomachs and kick their
heels, and get under your feet and on your back. And their mouths always
have molasses or sugar in the corners, and their noses have colds, and
their hands are that sticky they leave a print on everything they touch.

But they aren't mean-bad, just bad because they don't know what to do,
and they beg me to stay and play with them when Miss Jones sends me
over with a message. Sometimes I do, and the day Martha gave Mary such a
rasping about making money, another thought came besides the apples, and
I went that afternoon to see Mrs. Moon.

"Mrs. Moon," I said, "the children have colds and can't go out. If Miss
Bray will let me, would you like me to come over and entertain them
during our play-hour? It's from half-past four to half-past five. I'll
come every day from now until Christmas, and I charge twenty-five cents
a week for it."