em you can ask
them to subscribe. By the way, what will you charge for subscription?"

"How much, Uncle?" asked Patsy, appealingly.

"A penny paper is the most popular," he said, regarding her with merry,
twinkling eyes. "Say thirty cents a month, or three-fifty a year. That's
as much as these poor people can stand."

"I think so too," replied the girl, seriously.

"But it seems to me a penny paper isn't dignified," pouted Louise. "I
had intended to print all my poems in it, and I'm sure that ought to
make it worth at least five cents a copy."

"That will make it worth more, my dear," commented Uncle John; "but
frequently one must sell property for less than it's actually worth.
You must remember these people have not been used to spending much money
on literature, and I imagine you'll have to coax them to spend thirty
cents a month. Many of the big New York papers are sold for a penny, and
without any loss of dignity, either."

"Do you think we can make it pay on that basis, Uncle?" asked Beth.

Uncle John coughed to gain time while he thought of a suitable reply.
"That, my dear," he informed his niece, "will depend upon how many
subscribers you can get. Subscribers and advertisers are necessary to
make any paper pay."

"Advertisers!"

"Of course," said practical Beth. "Every merchant in Millville and
Huntingdon will naturally advertise in our paper, and we'll make the
major get us a lot from New York."

"Oh," said Patsy; "I see. So _that_ difficulty is settled."

Arthur smiled, but held his peace. Uncle John's round face was growing
merrier every minute.

"Patsy, do you think we shall make any money from this venture?" asked
Louise.

"We ought to, if we put our hearts and souls into the thing," was the
reply. "But before we divide any profits we must pay back to Uncle John
the original investment."

"We don't especially care to make any profit, do we?" inquired Beth.
"It's fun for us, you know, and a--a--great educational experience,
and--and--a fine philanthropy--and all that. We don't need the money, so
if the paper pays a profit at a cent a copy we'd better cut down the
price."

"Don't do that yet," advised Uncle John, soberly. "There will be
expenses that as yet you don't suspect, and a penny for a paper is about
as low as you can go."

"What's to be my position on the staff, Patsy?" asked Beth, turning to
her cousin.

"You're a good mathematician, Beth, so I propose you act as secretary
an