course Rosemary was called on for this and as a result her own work
was left quite to the last.

"But I couldn't ice the cakes till the day before the fair, anyway,"
she said philosophically to Miss Parsons, "though I did want to
have time to see that the plates and napkins were matched; last year
we ran short of napkins."

The morning of the fair, Rosemary hurried upstairs to ice her cakes.
They were all arranged on the kitchen table, thirty of them, each
one a triumph of culinary art. Rosemary was excused from school for
the day, but the cakes had been baked late the previous afternoon
for it was a school rule that the fair was not to interfere with
class attendance.

"And I don't see why Rosemary Willis should be excused," muttered
Fannie Mears indignantly.

"I suppose you think she can ice thirty cakes in half an hour,"
Sarah flung back. "And set the table and go home and get dressed,
too."

Humming happily, Rosemary tied on her white apron and went about her
mixing. As she had said, there were ten different icings to be made,
the same flavor being allowed only three cakes. Some were loaves and
some were layers and one or two had been scorched. These Rosemary
carefully grated and planned to ice thickly.

In the midst of her work she made a distressing discovery. The linen
cloth for the table was soiled!

"I'm just as sure as I can be that it was clean in the drawer last
night," Rosemary confided to Miss Parsons. "I looked the last
thing."

She had found it rolled up in a wad and stuffed at the furtherest
end of the table drawer. Not only was it rumpled, but it showed
several stains.

"I'll go home this noon and get one of ours," said Rosemary. "I
think I'll be glad when this fair is over."

"I think we'll all be glad," replied Miss Parsons, frowning a
little, for the cloth incident annoyed her. She, too, had been
certain it was clean the afternoon before.

Rosemary went home at noon, leaving half the cakes to do on her
return. A large bowl of chocolate icing stood on the table, covered
with a muslin cloth.

There was no one to see the kitchen door open slyly fifteen minutes
later, no one to see a figure dart in and make for the table. One
hand lifted the muslin cloth, the other reached for the large tin
salt shaker.

"Drop that!" said a voice peremptorily.

The shaker dropped to the floor with a clatter, and Fannie Mears
turned to face Mr. Oliver.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked sternl