The stoning of raisins and buttering of cake-pans fell to Rosy to do, who was excused from shop duty for the morning to help the mother in her unwonted tasks; and patiently the little girl performed it all, secretly planning, as she waited on the busy housewife, taking the thousand and one necessary steps in and out the buttery and pantry, if one of her little wood-gardens remained unsold in the shop, to take it to dress the dinner-table on the morrow. “They can’t all be sold,” thought Rosy, almost wishing for the moment that there was not quite such a demand for them. “If the red partridge-berries could only stay at home, what a party we would have!” But when Cornelius ran in to dinner, Jack staying behind to mind the shop, he shouted out gleefully, “Rosy, every single one of your gardens is gone, and we could have sold two more if we’d had ’em!” Rosy gave a great sigh, and then reproached herself for even wishing it otherwise. “Rosy’ll make more money than any of us,” declared Cornelius, generally called “Corny,” between his mouthfuls. “How I wish I’d thought about fixing up roots and ferns and such things in old cracked saucers.” “But you help me,” cried Rosy. “I couldn’t even dig the roots without you, Corny.” “And me, too!” cried Roly Poly, or Primrose, which was her real name. “I always go with you, Rosy, you know,” and she laid down the little bone she was slowly picking to regard her sister gravely. “So you do!” cried Rosy and Cornelius together. “I’m sure we couldn’t ever get along without you, Pet;” whereat the baby of the family felt happy, and smilingly resumed her bone once more. But that night a rap sounded on the outer door, sharp and decided. “Run and see who it is, Jack,” said Mother Brimmer, looking up from her stocking-mending. Jack came hurrying back, a large parcel with white paper loosely folded over it, in his hand. “It’s for Rosy,” he said, setting it down. “For me?” cried Rosy, too astonished to open it; but Cornelius helped her, and at last the paper was torn off. “It’s your old red wood-garden!” exclaimed Corny, dreadfully disappointed, at least expecting a big cake. “Oh!” Rosy clasped her hands, and took an ecstatic little spin in the middle of the floor. “Now it isn’t wicked to want it!” she cried, dreadfully excited. “If I’d known you wanted to keep one,” said Jack slowly, “so bad, I never’d sold it.” “Who bought it?” asked his mother. “Mrs. Higginson.” “I wonder what other people do who haven’t got such a minister, and his wife,” observed Mrs. Brimmer, wiping her eyes, as Rosy fell to oh-ing over her treasure, and fondling each leaf. “Folks ought to be good who sit under their preaching,” she added. “We’ll be good to-morrow, anyway,” declared Cornelius. “My! don’t it seem funny to go to church in the middle of the week!”