"You have always been the greatest help, Rob dear," said Mrs. Grey. "You have been our tonic ever since you were old enough to feel sympathy, and that was long ago." "If I'm a tonic, Wythie must be cold cream, or something healing, and Prue--what is Prudy? Violet extract to keep us dainty, I suspect," said Rob. If Rob was glad and thankful for her success, Frances was triumphantly glorying in it. She never had been an especially clever child, while Rob had been a brilliant little creature, the pride of her teachers, who invariably brought her forward when the credit of the school was to be maintained--this was in their early childhood, and during the irregular periods when Rob had been at school. Now the humdrum girl had devised the scheme which was to make clever Rob's fortune, as if the moth had unexpectedly furnished the wick to the candle, and Frances was as proud as she was delighted in its results. The Rutherford boys hailed Rob a story-teller with irreverent glee. Contributions from one or another of Battalion B poured in daily--sometimes from all three at once. Maria Edgeworth's Moral Tales--to supplement Rob's, if "her grey matter gave out," Basil's accompanying note stated; a bunch of rattan-rods, slates, primers, spectacles, and a cap for herself. Even a false front came from Bruce--most frankly false, with a muslin parting, and yellow in color, because, he explained, he "thought yellow would contrast prettily with her dark eyes, and her cap would hide its not matching her own brown locks." Bartlemy illuminated a set of mottoes to adorn the walls of what the boys called "Rob's auditorium." "Little Children Must Never Tell Stories," "Listen to My Tale of Woe," "As Tedious as a Twice-Told Tale," "Young Robin Grey Came a-Courtin' We," "Truth is Stranger (Here) Than Fiction," "Plain Tales for the Bills," three for a side of the room. Rob hung these brilliant productions, and piled up all her other tributes from Battalion B in a small, unused room under the "lean-to" roof, where twice a week she retired to prepare her story for the next recital. In spite of the boys' ridicule, in spite of Aunt Azraella's croaking, Rob's experiment was proving more successful each week. But the pleasantest part of it all to Rob was when her father appealed to her as a capitalist to aid in launching the invention. "It is all done, Rob, practically finished," said Mr. Grey, laying a trembling hand on the girl's shoulder one morning at the end of two hours' close work together. "Don't get excited, Patergrey; you know it is forbidden you," cried Rob, beginning to quiver in sympathy. "Yes, it's done. Sit down; you look pale--let me get you a tablet."