"Oh, I could never say anything like that!" exclaimed Rebecca, who was blushing crimson at her awkward fall. "But it doesn't seem right for you to buy so much. Are you sure you can afford it?" "If I can't, I'll save on something else," returned the jocose philanthropist. "What if your aunt shouldn't like the kind of soap?" queried Rebecca nervously. "My aunt always likes what I like," he returned "Mine doesn't!" exclaimed Rebecca "Then there's something wrong with your aunt!" "Or with me," laughed Rebecca. "What is your name, young lady?" "Rebecca Rowena Randall, sir." "What?" with an amused smile. "BOTH? Your mother was generous." "She couldn't bear to give up either of the names she says." "Do you want to hear my name?" "I think I know already," answered Rebecca, with a bright glance. "I'm sure you must be Mr. Aladdin in the Arabian Nights. Oh, please, can I run down and tell Emma Jane? She must be so tired waiting, and she will be so glad!" At the man's nod of assent Rebecca sped down the lane, crying irrepressibly as she neared the wagon, "Oh, Emma Jane! Emma Jane! we are sold out!" Mr. Aladdin followed smilingly to corroborate this astonishing, unbelievable statement; lifted all their boxes from the back of the wagon, and taking the circular, promised to write to the Excelsior Company that night concerning the premium. "If you could contrive to keep a secret,--you two little girls,--it would be rather a nice surprise to have the lamp arrive at the Simpsons' on Thanksgiving Day, wouldn't it?" he asked, as he tucked the old lap robe cosily over their feet. They gladly assented, and broke into a chorus of excited thanks during which tears of joy stood in Rebecca's eyes. "Oh, don't mention it!" laughed Mr. Aladdin, lifting his hat. "I was a sort of commercial traveler myself once,--years ago,--and I like to see the thing well done. Good-by Miss Rebecca Rowena! Just let me know whenever you have anything to sell, for I'm certain beforehand I shall want it." "Good-by, Mr. Aladdin! I surely will!" cried Rebecca, tossing back her dark braids delightedly and waving her hand. "Oh, Rebecca!" said Emma Jane in an awe-struck whisper. "He raised his hat to us, and we not thirteen! It'll be five years before we're ladies." "Never mind," answered Rebecca; "we are the BEGINNINGS of ladies, even now." "He tucked the lap robe round us, too," continued Emma Jane, in an ecstasy of reminiscence. "Oh! isn't he perfectly elergant? And wasn't it lovely of him to buy us out? And just think of having both the lamp and the shade for one day's work! Aren't you glad you wore your pink gingham now, even if mother did make you put on flannel underneath? You do look so pretty in pink and red, Rebecca, and so homely in drab and brown!"