ons and knitted shoes; while the bookstore had all the holiday
magazines, and a splendid assortment of tissue paper in every possible
shade.

But delightful as all this was to the eyes of East Cyrus, there was one
shop that so far outshone the rest that all day long an admiring group
of children stood before it, gazing in at the window, and fairly
goggling with wonder and longing. This was the shop of Mr. Ivory
Cheeseman. Across and across the window were strings of silver tinsel,
wonderful enough in themselves, but still more wonderful for the freight
they bore; canes of every description, from the massive walking-stick
that might have supported Lonzo's giant frame, down to dapper and
delicate affairs no bigger than one's little finger; and all made of
candy, red and white and yellow. That was a sight in itself, I should
hope; but that was not all. The broad shelf beneath was covered with
tinsel-sprinkled green, and here were creatures many, cats and lions and
elephants, dromedaries and horses and turtles, all in clear barley
sugar, red and yellow and white. Chocolate mice there were, too, bigger
than the cats as a rule; and flanking these zooelogical wonders, row upon
row of shining glass jars, containing every stick that ever was
twisted, every drop that ever was dropped.

Inside, a long counter overflowed with the more recondite forms of
goodies, caramels, and burnt almonds, chocolate creams and the like;
behind this counter a pretty girl stood smiling, ready to dispense
delight in any sugary form, at so much a pound.

In the kitchen behind the shop the little stove was glowing like a
friendly demon, and beside the long table stood Mr. Cheeseman and Calvin
Parks, deep in talk.

"Now you want," said the old man, "to get a _good price_ for these
goods, friend Parks. I'm lettin' you have 'em at wholesale price,
because you're a man I like, and because I wish to see you well fixed
and provided with a partner for life. Now here's your chance, and I'm
goin' to speak right out plain. You're a good fellow, but you are not a
man of business!"

"That's right!" murmured Calvin meekly. "That's straight, stem to
stern."

"I hear about you now and again, in the way of trade," Mr. Cheeseman
went on. "Folks come in, and talk a spell; you know how 'tis. I've gone
so fur as to ask folks about you, folks whose opinion was worth havin'.
They all like you fust-rate; say you're a good feller, none better, but
you'll never make go