ne if you can help it."

Win grew pink, though she firmly gave him back look for look. Little
Sister was her favourite doll, and it was an open secret that Miss
Child didn't wish to sell it unless she could be sure of finding it a
suitable and happy home. In fact, she hated the thought of a sale.
Many Teddy bears and other interesting personalities she had learned
to like, and to miss when they went the way of all good Teddy animals;
but Little Sister she loved, and to barter that adorable sunny head,
those laughing brown eyes and dimples, for money seemed almost as bad
as the auctioning of a child in the slave market. If she had had
twenty dollars to play with she would have bought the doll for
herself. As it was, she had to plead guilty to Mr. Tobias's charge.

She changed her look of self-defence to one more deprecating yet half
mischievous; not the look of a scolded girl to an accusing
floorwalker, but that of charming young womanhood to man.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I didn't forget; but I felt sure that lady
wouldn't spend twenty dollars for a doll. And I _know_ I can find a
better--I mean, I know I can get some one to buy it."

"I'll buy it," said Mr. Logan, stepping up.

This time he had safely caught his tantalizing rainbow trout, which
had not a chance even to wriggle. There was 2884 without an excuse in
the shape of another customer, and there was Tobias, with whom, on the
strength of the alleged "invention," Mr. Jim Logan had already scraped
acquaintance.

The eyes of the girl and the man met. Logan saw that Miss Child had
already guessed what he meant to do, or that she thought she had. But
he believed that he had a card up his sleeve whose presence even her
sharp wit had not detected. He looked forward joyously to the scene
about to begin.

"Get the doll I spoke of and show it to this gentleman," commanded
Mr. Tobias, lingering to see that he was obeyed, for there was that in
the flushed face of 2884 which told him she was capable of a trick.

Little Sister lived in a large, open-fronted box lined with blue silk
and fluffy lace, in a desirable but not too conspicuous (Win had seen
to that!) corner of a shelf devoted entirely to dollhood. There she
stood now, the sweet, smiling child, the image of the ideal
two-year-old baby which every girl would like to have for her own
"when I'm married."

In reaching up her hands to take down the box Win hesitated. Next but
one was another doll, not unlike