ed them with B's, and then, with his own hands, he
adjusted the palm-leaf.

The man who kept the store looked at the sixpence curiously, when
Patience offered it.

"One of the Squire's sixpences!" said he.

"Yes; it's mine." That was the argument which Patience had set forth
to her own conscience. It was certainly her own sixpence; the Squire
had given it to her--had she not a right to do as she chose with it?

The man laughed; his name was Ezra Tomkins, and he enjoyed a joke. He
was privately resolving to give that sixpence in change to the
old Squire and see what he would say. If Patience had guessed his
thoughts--

But she took the card of peppermints, and carried them to the appeased
and repentant and curious Martha, and waited further developments in
trepidation. She had a presentiment deep within her childish soul that
some day she would have a reckoning with Squire Bean concerning his
sixpence.

If by chance she had to pass his house, she would hurry by at her
utmost speed lest she be intercepted. She got out of his way as fast
as she could if she spied his old horse and chaise in the distance.
Still she knew the day would come; and it did.

It was one Saturday afternoon; school did not keep, and she was all
alone in the house with Martha. Her mother had gone visiting. The two
little girls were playing "Holly Gull, Passed how many," with beans in
the kitchen, when the door opened, and in walked Susan Elder. She
was a woman who lived at Squire Bean's and helped his wife with the
housework.

The minute Patience saw her, she knew what her errand was. She gave a
great start. Then she looked at Susan Elder with her big frightened
eyes.

Susan Elder was a stout old woman. She sat down on the settle, and
wheezed before she spoke. "Squire Bean wants you to come up to his
house right away," said she at last.

Patience trembled all over. "My mother is gone away. I don't know as
she would want me to go," she ventured despairingly.

"He wants you to come right away," said Susan.

"I don't believe mother'd want me to leave the house alone."

"I'll stay an' rest till you git back; I'd jest as soon. I'm all
tuckered out comin' up the hill."

Patience was very pale. She cast an agonized glance at Martha. "I
spent the Squire's sixpence for those peppermints," she whispered. She
had not told her before.

Martha looked at her in horror--then she begun to cry. "Oh! I made you
do it," she sobbed.

"Won't you go