Sally opened her “General Emporium” the first of June.  It stood exactly at the crossroads, beside Greenacre Hall.  There was the waterfall, and the old bridge leading to the Scotland road.  With Shad to superintend the work, the Peckham boys had erected a little slab shack, and Sally had planted wild cucumber and morning-glory vines thickly about the outside, the last week in April, so that by June they had clambered half-way up.  There were rustic window boxes of birch, filled with nasturtiums and Wandering Jew.

Inside the store there were two counters, one on either side as you entered, and these had been Mr. Peckham’s contribution to the good cause.  Several old hickory armchairs from Cousin Roxy’s helped to give the interior an inviting appearance, and Sally put up little, thin scrim curtains at the windows.

At first the stocking up of the store had been somewhat of a problem, but Cousin Roxy helped out with the business plan, and by this time nearly every one in Gilead was taking a keen, personal interest in the girls’ venture.

It was Ma Parmalee who first suggested Sally selling on the commission plan.

“I’ve got thirty-five jars of the best kind of preserves and canned goods in Gilead, though I say it as shouldn’t,” she announced, one day, when she had stopped on her way by the crossroads to look over the new establishment.  “Most of them are pints, and besides I’ve got—­land, I don’t know how many glasses of jell.  I’d be willing to give you a right good share of whatever you could make on ’em, if you could sell ’em off for me down here.”

Sally agreed gladly, and the fruit made a splendid showing along the upper shelves behind the counters.  Not only that, but it began to sell at once.  Mr. Ormond bought up all of the quince jelly after sampling one glass, and Ralph acknowledged that he and Honey were perfectly willing to become responsible for the strawberry preserves and spiced pears.  By the time Frances Cunningham and the other girls from the Academy had arrived, Sally was already looking around for more supplies.

Then Cynthy Allen had come over with Cousin Roxy one day.  Ever since her home had burned the year before she had been under the friendly roof up at Elmhurst, helping out according to her strength, and never fully realizing how the shelter of the old house kept her from the poor-farm down on the Plains.  She came into the store with an old black lace veil fluttering as usual from her hat, and a brown bombazine dress that dated from the eighties.

“Well, you’ve got the place fixed up real sightly,” she said.  “I wonder—­I don’t suppose you’d have any sale for braided rag rugs, would you?  I’ve got some awful pretty ones packed away in my chest, brand new, too.  I’ve been sewing and winding all winter for Roxana, too, but I guess she plans to use them for carpets.”

Sally accepted the suggestion instantly, and down came half a dozen oval rugs, braided in Cynthy’s best style, that were snapped up at once by the tent dwellers.  Frances bought three to put around in the tent which she had reserved for Miss Emery.