ONE bright and never-to-be-forgotten day, Nettie and Jerry stood together in the "new" room and surveyed with intense satisfaction all its appointments. They were ready to begin business. On that very evening the room was to be "open to the public!" They looked at each other as they repeated that large-sounding phrase, and laughed gleefully. There had been a great deal to do to get ready. Hours and even days had been spent in planning. It astonished both these young people to discover how many things there were to think of, and get ready for, and guard against, before one could go into business. There was a time when with each new day, new perplexities arose. During those days Jerry had spent a good deal of his leisure in fishing; both because at the Smiths, and also at the Deckers, fish were highly prized, but also because, as he confided to Nettie, "a fellow could somehow think a great deal better when his fingers were at work, and when it was still everywhere about him." There were times, however, when his solitude was disturbed. There had been one day in particular when something happened about which he did not tell Nettie. He was in his fishing suit, which though clean and whole was not exactly the style of dress which a boy would wear to a party, and he stood leaning against a rail fence, rod in hand, trying to decide whether he should try his luck on that side, or jump across the logs to a shadier spot; trying also to decide just how they could manage to get another lamp to stand on the reading table, when he heard voices under the trees just back of him. They were whispering in that sort of penetrating whisper that floats so far in the open air, and which some, girls, particularly, do not seem to know can be heard a few feet away. Jerry could hear distinctly; in fact unless he stopped his ears with his hands he could not help hearing. And the old rule, that listeners never hear any good of themselves, applied here. "There's that Jerry who lives at Smiths," said whisperer number one, "do look what a fright; I guess he has borrowed a pair of Job Smith's overalls! Isn't it a shame that such a nice-looking boy is deserted in that way, and left to run with all sorts of people?" "I heard that he wasn't deserted; that his father was only staying out West, or down South, or somewhere for awhile." "Oh! that's a likely story," said whisperer number one, her voice unconsciously growing louder. "Just as if any father who _was_ anybody, would leave a boy at Job Smith's for months, and never come near him. I think it is real mean; they say the Smiths keep him at work all the while, fishing; he about supports them, and the Deckers too, with fish and things." At this point the amused listener nearly forgot himself and whistled.