About that time of every year, June, the children were forbidden to go indiscriminately any more to the "maple sugar tub." The sweet store would begin to lessen alarmingly by that time, and the indulgent mother would begin to economize.

Every day since they "made sugar," Roxy had had the felicity of carrying a great, brown, irregular, tempting chunk of maple sugar to school. She had always divided with the girls generously. Her father did not often give her pennies to buy cinnamon, candy, raisins, and cloves with; so she used to "treat" with maple sugar in the summer, and with "but'nut meats" in the winter, in return for the "store goodies" other girls had.

For a week now she had been prohibited the sugar-tub. This morning she had asked her father for sixpence, to buy cinnamon. She had been refused. "Stingy things!" she sobbed. "They think a little girl can live without money just as well as not. O, I am so ashamed! I'd like to see how mother would like to be invited to tea by the neighbors, and never ask any of them to _her_ house. I guess she'd feel mean! But they think because I am a little girl, there's no need of _my_ being polite and free-hearted! Polly Stedman has given me cinnamon three times, and I _know_ the girls think I'm stingy! I'm _so_ ashamed!" And Roxy's red cheeks and shining brown eyes brimmed up and overflowed with tears.

Poor little Roxy! she herself had such a big sweet tooth! It was absolutely impossible for her to refuse a piece of stick cinnamon or a peppermint drop. Yesterday she had told the girls she should certainly bring maple sugar to-day. She meant to, too, even if she "took" it. But there her mother had stood at the broad shelf all the morning, making pies and ginger snaps, and the sugar-tub set under the broad shelf.

There was no chance. She finally had asked her mother.

"No, Roxy; the sugar will be gone in less than a month. You children eat more sugar every year than I use in cooking. It's a wonder you have any stomachs left."

"I promised the girls some," pleaded Roxy.

"Promised the girls! You've fed these girls ever since the sugar was made. Off with you! What do you suppose your father'd say?"

Roxy wouldn't have dared tell her father. He was a stirring, hard-working man, that gave his family all the luxuries and comforts that could be "raised" on the farm; but bought few, and growled over what he did buy, and made no "store debts." It was high time, in fact, that Roxy's indulgent mother should begin to husband the sugar.

Roxy saw there would be no chance to "take" the sugar; so she had mournfully started off. Is it strange that so generous a girl would have stolen, if she could? Why, children, I have seen many a man do mean, wrong, dishonest deeds, in order to be thought generous, and a "royal good fellow," by his own particular friends; and Roxy would a thousand times rather have "stolen" than to have faced her mates empty-handed this morning. She walked on in sorrowful meditation. She thought once of going back, to see if there were eggs at the barn--she might take them down to the store, and get candy. But she remembered they were all brought in last night, and it was too early for the hens to have laid this morning.

As she pondered ways and means in her little brain, a daring thought struck her. That thought took away her breath. She turned white and cold. Then she turned burning red all over. Her little feet shook under her. But, my! What riches! What a supply to go to! How they would envy her!

"I don't care--so. They needn't be so stingy with me! And Mrs. Reub uses so much such things I don't believe it will ever be noticed in the 'account'--and, any way, it'll be six months before he settles up.

n.o.body will know it till then, and maybe--_maybe_ I shall be dead by that time, or the world will burn up!"

With these comforting reflections, Roxy straightened up her little sun-bonneted head, doubled her little brown fists, and ran as hard as she could--and Roxy could outrun most of the boys. On she ran, past the school-house--it was not yet unlocked--right on down to the village. She slacked up as she struck the sidewalks. She walked slower and slower, to cool her bounding pulses and burning skin.

Still her cheeks were like two blood-red roses as she walked into the cool, dark, old stone store; but for some reason, mental, moral, or physical, while her cheeks remained red, her little legs and arms grew stone cold and stiff, and spots like blood came before her eyes, and a great ringing filled her ears, as Mr. Hampshire, the merchant himself, instead of his clerk, came to wait upon her. "And what will you have, Miss Roxy--some peppermints?"

"No, sir. If you please, Mrs. Reuben Markham wants two pounds of raisins, and five pounds of cinnamon, and you are to charge it to Mr.

Markham."

It was strange, but her voice never faltered after she got well begun.

However, for all that, Mr. Hampshire stared at her. "_Five pounds of cinnamon_, did you say, sis?"

"Yes, sir, if you please," answered Roxy, quietly, "and two pounds of raisins."

So Mr. Hampshire went back, and weighed out the cinnamon and raisins, and gave them to her. She was a little startled at the mighty bundle five pounds of stick cinnamon made; but she took them and went out, and Mr. Hampshire went back and charged the things to Mr. Reuben Markham.

Miss Roxy went speeding back to the school-house with her aromatic bundle. Her face was fairly radiant. She had no idea five pounds of cinnamon were so much. O, _such a lot_! She had made up her mind what to do with it. She couldn't, of course, carry it home. She had no trunk that would lock, or any place safe from her mother's eyes. But in the grove, back of the school-house, there was a tree with a hollow in it.

By hard running she got there before any of the scholars came. She put her fragrant packages in, first filling her pocket, and then stopped the remaining s.p.a.ce with a couple of innocent-looking stones.

Such a happy day as it was! She found herself a perfect princess among her mates. She "treated" them royally, I a.s.sure you. Everybody was so obliging to her all day, and it was so nice to be able to make everybody pleased and grateful! Both the day of judgment and the dying day were put afar off--at least six months off.

Meantime, during the forenoon, Mr. Hampshire kept referring to the idea that any one could want _five pounds of cinnamon_ at one time. Still, little Roxy was Mrs. Reub Markham's next neighbor, and it was perfectly probable that she should send by her.

Some time in the afternoon Mr. Reuben Markham came down to the store. He was a wealthy man, jolly, but quick-tempered. Mr. Hampshire and he were on excellent terms. "How are you, Markham? and what's your wife baking to-day?"

"My wife baking?"

"Yes. I concluded you were going to have something extra spicy. Five pounds of cinnamon look rather suspicious. Miss Janet's not going to step off--is she."

"I'm not in that young person's confidence. I should say not, however.

But what do you mean by your five pounds of cinnamon?"

"Why, Mrs. Gildersleeve's little girl was in here this morning, and said Mrs. Markham sent for five pounds of cinnamon and two of raisins."

"Mrs. Gildersleeve's girl? I know Mrs. Markham never sent for no such things. She knew I was coming down myself this afternoon."

He followed Mr. Hampshire down the store to the desk. There it was in the day-book:--

"Reub Markham, Dr., per Roxy Gildersleeve.

To 5 pounds cinnamon, 40c., $2 00 " 2 " raisins (layer), 20c., 40

That Mr. Reub Markham swore, must also be set down against him. He drove home in a red rage. Through the open school-house door, little Roxy Gildersleeve saw him pa.s.s; but her merry young heart boded no ill. Her mouth was tingling pungently with the fine cinnamon, and in her pocket yet were eight moist, fat, sugary raisins, to be slipped in her mouth one by one, four during the geography lesson, four during the spelling lesson.

As it happened, Mr. Gildersleeve was cultivating corn in a field that fronted the highway. He and his wealthier neighbor were not on the best of terms. A line fence and an unruly ox had made trouble. Mr.

Gildersleeve had sued Mr. Markham, and beat him; and Mr. Gildersleeve didn't take any pains now to look up as he saw who was coming.

But Mr. Markham drew up his horses.

"h.e.l.lo, Gildersleeve!"

"h.e.l.lo yourself, Mr. Markham!"

"I say, what you sending your young uns down to the store after things, and charging them to me for? Mighty creditable that, Tom Gildersleeve!"

"Getting things and charging them to you!" Gildersleeve stopped his horse. "What do you mean, Markham?"

"You better go down and ask Hampshire. If you don't, you may get it explained in a way you won't fancy!"

He whipped up his horses and drove off, leaving Mr. Gildersleeve standing there, gazing after him as if he had lost his senses. After a moment he unhitched his horse from the cultivator, mounted him, and rode off toward the village.

School was out. Roxy had reached home. She was setting the table, and whistling like a blackbird. Things had gone so happily at school!

Everything was so neat, and pleasant, and cosy at home! She saw her father ride into the yard, and go to the barn. She whistled on.

She sat in the big rocking-chair, stoning cherries, and smelling the roses by the window, when he came into the kitchen.

"Where's Roxy?" she heard him ask.

"In the other room, I guess," said mother.

He came in where she was. She looked up; and her little stained hands fell back into the pan. She knew the day of judgment had come. O, she wished it was that other day, the day of death, instead! Her mouth dropped open, the room turned dark.

Mr. Gildersleeve sank down on a chair. His child's face was too much for him. He groaned aloud. "That one of _my_ children should ever be talked about as a thief! What possessed you, Roxy?"

Roxy sat before him, trembling. Not at the prospect of punishment. But she saw her father's eyes filling up with tears. "Don't, father," she said, hurriedly, trying not to cry. "I've only eaten a little, and I will carry it all back. If you will pay for what is gone, I'll sell berries or something, and pay you back the money. Mr. Hampshire is a good man; he won't tell, father, if you ask him not."

"You poor, ignorant child!"