“We won’t go down!” cried Charlie.

“No, no!” said the boys.

The different members of the club signified their willingness.  Will Somers said he would assist.

One other person must be consulted, the older “honorary member” of the club, Aunt Stanshy.  Knowing her very just and positive opposition to drinking habits, Miss Barry thought she might refer to old Tim’s, and throw out a sharp opinion that the uncle ought to help the boy, as he lived in the family of the boy’s mother.  Charlie, too, thought his aunt might object, but she did not.  She only put on that look of sadness Charlie had noticed when old Tim was in the neighborhood that rainy day, and to Will’s remark that old Tim ought to do more, she said, with a sigh,

“I suppose the boy is not responsible for other people’s failings, and they say his face is very white, and his hands are real thin, and he behaves better than he did.  Yes, I’ll—­help.”

It was easy to decide when to hold this fair, but “where” was a difficult problem.

“Take the barn chamber,” said Sid.

“It’s too cold,” replied Will, “and this is to be quite a grand affair.”

It was like Aunt Stanshy to offer her front room and sitting-room for Tim’s benefit, provided Will could spare his quarters, and spare he did.

“We will scatter some posters,” said Will.  “I will see that they are printed.”

“We can do it ourselves with pen and ink, and then people will think more of it, you know.  Besides, as we scatter them, we may have a chance to solicit donations, as they call it,” said Sid.

“Splendid!” replied Will.

“And we will call on the apothecary,” shouted Charlie.

“Yes, but if it be candy, I must put an extra string round the package to make sure that it all gets to the right place and is not troubled on the way.”

The members of the club who had met to “consult” were in excellent spirits, especially when Will said, in reply to the governor’s proposition to ask friends to contribute refreshments, “I see you know how to do it.  Your experience at your fair fitted you to go right along with this thing in splendid style.”

Tony thought he could bring some pictures that had been forwarded from Italy, and Charlie said, “I guess I can get up a maginary.”

“A maginary?” asked Will.

Charlie only chuckled over his proposition, and made no explanations.

“I propose,” said Will, “I propose, Mr. President”—­here he bowed to Sid, which caused that dignitary to stick his thumb into the lowest button hole of his jacket and swell out with pride—­“I propose that we call our affair a ‘Helping-Hand Sale.’  You know there is a good deal in a name, and it sets people to thinking, and sets them to helping, too, and I think Miss Barry will like the name.”

This was agreeable to the club, whose members now separated to their homes.