“O!  Well, I’ll give that.”

“You will?” said Charlie, in delight.  “I’ll give you another kiss.”

“Charlie,” said the blushing Constantia, “you’ll make a fool of an old woman like me.”

In the night the lips of the sleeping Charlie parted as he said, with a smile, “Two cents!” When this good news of the first sale was announced to the club in the morning, it threw the members into a feverish excitement.

“First-rate opening, fellers,” declared the president, “even before we have opened any thing.”

“We don’t open,” said the governor, “till school is out to-night.”

“Let’s open now,” said Billy Grimes, in the excitement of his enthusiasm over the news;

“What a booby!” said the governor, in plain language.  “We have got no things here yet, and there are no buyers, and we must all clear out to school in ten minutes.”

The governor’s massive logic crushed the foolish Billy at once.

“Let’s open in good style,” said the president, “and do it to-night.”

By fifteen minutes after four, just as soon as a lot of scampering, shouting boys could get to the barn, bringing pockets stuffed with “articles,” the fair was declared “opened.”

“But how dark it is!” said the president.

So it was.  The boys had forgotten how early the sun was setting in the November days.

“Let’s postpone it till to-morrow afternoon, when there’s no school,” said Charlie.

“Who’s agreed?” asked the president.

“Me!” responded the club, vociferously.  They all had prudently concluded to wait for the advent of more daylight, and, withdrawing from the barn, went down the yard talking as busily as if they were a lot of hens cackling after a successful venture at egg-laying.  It had been left to Charlie to put above the notice, “FAIR,” the word “POSTPONED.”

“That will prevent any rush till morning, and save folks from being disappointed,” Sid had declared.

In the afternoon every thing was under way, and Aunt Stanshy went out to see the fair.

“I should never know the place, I must say,” remarked Aunt Stanshy, as her eyes swept the spot.  There were several so-called “tables,” such as an old window-blind and a disused shelf propped up by various supports like boxes and barrels.  These tables were covered with pieces of the old curtain, now doing service for the last time.

“Here is the confectionery table,” shouted Juggie.  There were now on the table three pieces of molasses candy made by his grandmother.  He had had twelve to start with, and, as he had sold none, the disposition of the missing nine pieces was a matter of grave suspicion.

“Here’s the toy table!” called out Charlie.  He had a few paper dolls and a few “hand-painted” shells, the decorator being Sid, and prominent on the table was the cotton image of that friend of the club, Santa Claus.

“Buy a corner-copier stuffed wid candy!” shouted Juggie, holding up a brown paper tunnel into which he was about dropping a solitary piece of candy.