“Now, Mary-'Gusta,” he said, “it ain't likely that your Uncle Shadrach and I are goin' to let you sell goods in that store. We won't hear of it, will we, Shadrach?” “Not by a thunderin' sight!” declared Shadrach, vehemently. “The idea!” “Why not? I've sold a good many there.” “I don't care if you have. You shan't sell any more. 'Twas all right when you was just a--a girl, a South Harnisser like the rest of us, but now that you're a Boston young lady, up to a fin--er--what-d'ye-call-it --er--endin' school--” “Finishin' school, Shadrach,” corrected Mr. Hamilton. “Well, whatever 'tis; I know 'twould be the end of ME if I had to live up to the style of it. 'Anyhow, now that you're there, Mary-'Gusta, a young lady, same as I said, we ain't--” But Mary interrupted. “Hush, Uncle Shad,” she commanded. “Hush, this minute! You're talking nonsense, I AM a South Harniss girl and I'm NOT a Boston young lady. My chief reasons for being so very happy at the thought of coming home here for my Christmas vacation were, first, that I should see you and Uncle Zoeth and Isaiah and the house and the horse and the cat and the hens, and, next, that I could help you with the Christmas trade at the store. I know perfectly well you need me. I'm certain you have been absolutely lost without me. Now, really and truly, haven't you?” “Not a mite,” declared the Captain, stoutly, spoiling the effect of the denial, however, by adding, although his partner had not spoken: “Shut up, Zoeth! We ain't, neither.” Mary laughed. “Uncle Shad,” she said, “I don't believe you. At any rate, I'm going up there this minute to see for myself. Come along!” She made no comment on what she saw at the store, but for the remainder of the forenoon she was very busy. In spite of the partners' protests, in fact paying no more attention to those perturbed men of business than if they were flies to be brushed aside when bothersome, she went ahead, arranging, rearranging, dusting, writing price tickets, lettering placards, doing all sorts of things, and waiting on customers in the intervals. At noon, when she and her Uncle Zoeth left for home and dinner, she announced herself in a measure satisfied. “Of course there is a great deal to do yet,” she said, “but the stock looks a little more as if it were meant to sell and less as if it were heaped up ready to be carted off and buried.”