He was interviewed but proved refractory on a point of honor. "For," said he, "no one will know I am 'Co.' and if you are such a great firm, I want the public honor of belonging to you." What was to be done? the fair could not be delayed until matters were settled; nor could the boys give up their job as being beyond their power. "I'll tell you my terms," said Dick finally. "I'll put my press and all its fixings into the concern if you'll let me have two thirds of the profits on this job and on all the rest of the work you do this week. I am 'hard up' and I know you have got orders ahead." These were hard terms, but on the other hand, as Dick could command custom, and was a good, clean printer, they acceded to his conditions and printed the bills in startling type, using one or two kinds in the same word, so as to make through the eye a vivid impression of the meaning of the Fair. From this time they had so much work to do in bill heads, tickets, envelopes, etc., that they led a calm life of unbroken industry, laying aside one quarter of their earnings each week as a fund for future stock and dividing the other three quarters equally between them. AUNT ELIZABETH'S FENCE. The little village of H---- is a sort of double-header, having a centre at each end, so to speak. The end nearest the railroad is known as "The Three Corners," on account of a certain arrangement of the roads meeting at that point, while the farther assemblage of houses bears a similar appellation, "The Four Corners," for a similar reason. The two parts of the town are in reality two distinct villages, although existing as one corporate body, and are banded together like the Siamese twins by a road leading directly from the heart of one to that of the other. On each side of this rural street, at neighborly distances, stand pretty white cottages, a story and a half high, nestling behind white fences under shading maples. Midway between the two Centres these dwellings stand further apart and are more evidently farmhouses; and just beyond a peaceful green meadow one's attention is suddenly arrested by a queer house--an architectural oddity, having an insignificant main part, and numerous additions, of different heights, jutting forth in every direction without any seeming plan, but looking as if they might have crept together some cold winter's day for mutual warmth, or as if the middle house was a bantam trying to shield an overgrown brood, a solitary tower having the effect of a chicken on the mother hen's back.