"Aunt Libby may be cross," whispered Dorothy, "for she has been all
alone, and this being Saturday she would expect help."

"Mother won't say anything to me," Tavia decided, "for--well, I have
something to tell her that will make her forget all about the work."

"Not about the--you know--" cautioned her companion."

"My, no," answered the other. "It's just about Mrs. Douglass' funeral.
You know ma always goes to funerals, and I have found out that people
may go to the house and see her. That will interest ma."

Joe was back with the paper, and was proud to have such an active
interest in the Bugle. It seemed something to say it was his own
father's paper, and then to have people remark what a bright sheet it
was, and how it was never afraid to tell the truth.

"Let me give it to father?" he asked Dorothy.

"No, let me?" pleaded little Roger, "cause I ain't hardly seen him a bit
lately."

"But you must not tell that we sold papers," directed Joe. "Father is
not to know yet, you know."

"Oh, I won't tell," Roger promised.

"But you might forget," argued Dorothy.

"Nope," declared the little fellow, "I'll just let this strap keep