n want of the human race, it was
palmed off on me. I became the unhappy possessor of five dressed
dolls, a lady's "nubia," a baby-jumper, fourteen "tidies," a set of
parlor croquet with wickets that wouldn't stand on their legs, a
patent churn warranted to make a pound of fresh butter in three
minutes out of a quart of chalk-and-water, a set of ladies' nightcaps,
two child's aprons, a castle-in-the-air, a fairy-palace, a doll's
play-house, a toy-balloon, a box of marbles, a pair of spectacles, a
pair of pillow-shams, a young lady's work-basket, seven needle-books,
a cradle-quilt, a good many bookmarks, a sofa-cushion, and an infant's
rattle, warranted to cut one's eye teeth; besides which I had tickets
in a fruit cake, a locket, a dressing-bureau, a baby-carriage, a
lady's watch-chain, and an infant's wardrobe complete.

When I feebly remonstrated that I'd spent all the money I brought, I
was smilingly assured by innumerable female Tootses that "it was of no
consequence"; but I found there _were_ consequences when I came to
settle afterward for half the things at the fair, because I was too
bashful to say No, boldly.

Fred Hencoop auctioned off the remaining articles after eleven
o'clock. Every time he put up something utterly unsalable, he would
look over at me, nod, and say: "Thank you, John; did you say fifty
cents?" or "Did I hear you say a dollar? A dollar--dollar--going, gone
to our friend and patron, John Flutter, Jr.," and some of the lady
managers would "make a note of it," and I was too everlastingly
embarrassed to deny it.

"John," said father, about four o'clock in the afternoon the day after
the fair--"John, did you buy all these things?"--the front part of the
store was piled and crammed with my unwilling purchases.

"Father, I don't know whether I did or not."

"How much is the bill?"

"$98.17."

"How are you going to pay it?"

"I've got the hundred dollars in bank grandmother gave me when she
died."

"Draw the money, pay your debts, and either get married at once and
make these things useful, or we'll have a bonfire in the back yard."

"I guess we'd better have the bonfire, father. I don't care for any
girl but Belle, and she won't have me."

"Won't have you! I'm worth as much as Squire Marigold any day."

"I know it, father; but I took her down to supper last night, and I
was so confused, with all the married ladies looking on, I made a
mess of it. I put two teaspoonfuls of sugar in her