knew we must depend on our own exertions. Peter was handicapped
at the beginning by the fact that he had no family friend to
finance him.

"If my Aunt Jane'd been living she'd have given me something," he
remarked. "And if my father hadn't run away he might have given
me something too. But I'm going to do the best I can anyhow.
Your Aunt Olivia says I can have the job of gathering the eggs,
and I'm to have one egg out of every dozen to sell for myself."

Felicity made a similar bargain with her mother. The Story Girl
and Cecily were each to be paid ten cents a week for washing
dishes in their respective homes. Felix and Dan contracted to
keep the gardens free from weeds. I caught brook trout in the
westering valley of spruces and sold them for a cent apiece.

Sara Ray was the only unhappy one among us. She could do
nothing. She had no relatives in Carlisle except her mother, and
her mother did not approve of the school library project, and
would not give Sara a cent, or put her in any way of earning one.
To Sara, this was humiliation indescribable. She felt herself an
outcast and an alien to our busy little circle, where each member
counted every day, with miserly delight, his slowly increasing
hoard of small cash.

"I'm just going to pray to God to send me some money," she
announced desperately at last.

"I don't believe that will do any good," said Dan. "He gives
lots of things, but he doesn't give money, because people can