said, that "if she was
doing at her end, Providence wasn't leaving off at his. Things would
come round."

This was how they did come round.

It only wanted a little sorting about. The pieces of the puzzle were
all there. Hazel Ripwinkley settled the first little bit in the
right place. She asked her mother one night, if she didn't think
they might begin their beehive with a fire-fly? Why couldn't they
keep little Vash?

"And then," said Diana, in her quiet way, slipping one of the big
three-cornered pieces of the puzzle in, "Damaris might go to Mrs.
Scarup for her two dollars a week. She is willing to work for that,
if she can get Vash taken. And this would be all the same, and
better."

Desire was with them when Luclarion came in, and heard it settled.

"How is it that things always fall right together for you, so? How
_came_ Damaris to come along?"

"You just take hold of something and try," said Luclarion. "You'll
find there's always a working alongside. Put up your sails, and the
wind will fill 'em."

Uncle Titus wanted to know "what sort of use a thing like that
could be in a house?"

He asked it in his very surliest fashion. If they had had any
motives of fear or favor, they would have been disconcerted, and
begun to think they had made a mistake.

But Hazel spoke up cheerily,--

"Why, to wait on people, uncle. She's the nicest little
fetch-and-carrier you ever saw!"

"Humph! who wants to be waited on, here? You girls, with feet and
hands of your own? Your mother doesn't, I know."

"Well, to wait _on_, then," says Hazel, boldly. "I'm making her a
baby-house, and teaching her to read; and Diana is knitting scarlet
stockings for her, to wear this winter. We like it."

"O, if you like it! That's always a reason. I only want to have
people give the real one."

And Uncle Titus walked off, so that nobody could tell whether _he_
liked it or not.

Nobody told him anything about the Scarups. But do you suppose he
didn't know? Uncle Titus Oldways was as sharp as he was blunt.

"I guess I know, mother," said Hazel, a little while after this, one
day, "how people write stories."

"Well?" asked her mother, looking up, ready to be amused with
Hazel's deep discovery.

"If they can just begin with one thing, you see, that makes the next
one. It can't help it, hardly. Just as it does with us. What made me
think of it was, that it seemed to me there was another little piece
of our beehive story all ready