earn that for themselves."

"I can't," said Sara, with passionate defiance. "I think He
ought to take that into account."

"Don't worry, dear," said Cecily, who always poured balm. "If
you can't collect any money everybody will know it isn't your
fault."

"I won't ever feel like reading a single book in the library if I
can't give something to it," mourned Sara.

Dan and the girls and I were sitting in a row on Aunt Olivia's
garden fence, watching Felix weed. Felix worked well, although
he did not like weeding--"fat boys never do," Felicity informed
him. Felix pretended not to hear her, but I knew he did, because
his ears grew red. Felix's face never blushed, but his ears
always gave him away. As for Felicity, she did not say things
like that out of malice prepense. It never occurred to her that
Felix did not like to be called fat.

"I always feel so sorry for the poor weeds," said the Story Girl
dreamily. "It must be very hard to be rooted up."

"They shouldn't grow in the wrong place," said Felicity
mercilessly.

"When weeds go to heaven I suppose they will be flowers,"
continued the Story Girl.