to walk, an' not one
raisin in the house to put into that weddin'-cake."

Mrs. Lennox stated the case in full, with a despairing eloquence, and
Aunt Maria sighed and wrinkled her forehead.

"If there were only any neighbors you could borrow from," she observed.

"Well, there ain't any neighbors 'twixt here and the store except the
Allens and the Simmonses, and the Allens are so tight they never put
raisins into their Thanksgivin' pies. Mis' Allen told me they didn't.
She said she thought most folks made their pies too rich, an' her folks
liked them just as well without raisins. An' as for the Simmonses, I
don't believe they see a raisin from one year's end to the other.
They're lucky if they can get enough common things to eat for all those
children. I don't know what's goin' to be done. Here's the dress-maker
comin' to-morrow, an' Cynthy goin' to be married in two weeks, and the
cake ought to be made to-day if it's ever goin' to be."

"Yes, it had," assented Aunt Maria. "We've put it off full long enough,
anyway. Weddin'-cake ain't near so good unless it stands a little
while."

"I know it."

Just then there was a shrill, prolonged squeak. It came from the yard.
The doors and windows were open; it was a very warm day.

"What's that?" cried Aunt Maria.

"Oh, it's nothin' but Fidelia's little wagon. She's draggin' it round
the yard."

The two women looked at each other; it was as if a simultaneous idea had
come suddenly to them.

Aunt Maria gave expression to it first. "Fidelia couldn't go, could
she?"

"Maria Crooker, that little thing! She ain't six years old, an' she's
never been anywhere alone. Do you s'pose I'm goin' to send her a mile to
that store?" Mrs. Lennox's tone was full of vehement indignation, but
her eyes still met Aunt Maria's with that doubtful and reflective
expression.

"I don't see a mite of harm in it," Aunt Maria maintained, sturdily. She
set her bowl of sugar and butter on the table, and leaned forward with a
hand on each aproned knee. "I know Fidelia ain't but five year old, but
she's brighter than some children of seven. It's just a straight road to
the store, an' she can't get lost, to save her life. And she knows where
'tis. You took her down to Mis' Rose's three or four weeks ago, didn't
you?"

"Yes; that day father went down for grain. I s'pose she would remember."

"Of course she'd remember. I don't see one thing, as far as I'm
concerned, to hinder that child's goin' down