eek for it."

I knew my face was rambler red. I hated to mention money, but I hated
worse not to have any to buy Miss Katherine a present with. If she
thought twenty-five cents a week too high she could say so. But she
didn't.

"Mercy, Mary Cary!" she said, "do you mean it? Would I like you to come?
Would I? I wish I could buy you!" And she threw her arms around me and
kissed me so funny I thought she was going to cry.

"Of course I want you," she went on, after wiping her nose. She had a
cold, too. "You can manage the children better than I, and if you knew
what one quiet hour a day meant to the mother of seven, all under
twelve, you'd charge more than you're doing. I'll see Miss Bray
to-morrow."

She saw, and Miss Bray let me come.

Mrs. Moon is a member of the Board, and Mr. Moon is rich. Miss Bray
never sleeps in waking time.

Well, when Mrs. Moon paid me for the first week, she gave me fifty cents
instead of twenty-five, and I wouldn't take it.

"But you've earned it," she said, putting it back in my hand, and giving
it a little pat--a little love pat. "You didn't say you were coming on
Sundays, and you came. Sunday is the worst day of all. I nearly go crazy
on Sunday. No, child, don't think you're getting too much. One doctor's
visit would be two dollars, and the prescription forty cents, anyhow.
The children would be on the bed, and my head splitting, and Mammy as
much good in keeping them quiet as a cackling hen. I feel like I'm
cheating in only paying fifty cents. Each nap was worth that. I wish I
could engage you by the year!" And she gave me such a squeeze I almost
lost my breath.

But they are funny, those Moon children. Sarah Sue is the oldest, and
nobody ever knows what Sarah Sue is going to say.

Yesterday I made them tell me what they were going to buy for their
mother's and father's Christmas presents, and the things they said were
queer. As queer as the presents some grown people give each other.

"I'm going to give father a set of tools," said Bobbie. "I saw 'em in
Mr. Blakey's window, and they'll cut all right. They cost eighty-five
cents."

"What are you going to give your father tools for?" I asked. "He's not a
boy."

"But I am." And Bobbie jumped over a chair on Billy's back. "You said
yourself you ought always to give a person a thing you'd like to have,
and I'd like those tools. They're the bulliest set in Yorkburg. I'm
going to give mother a little yellow duck. That's at Mr. Bla