"Yes, 'suppose.' If we _do_, well and good, but supposes aren't much account for immediate needs, and those are the things we've got to think about now."

"Then let me think too," broke in Eleanor.

"You may _think_ all you've a mind to; that's exactly what your brains are for, and some day you'll astonish us all. Meanwhile _I'll_ work."

"Now, Constance, what are you planning? You know perfectly well that if you leave school and take up something that _I_ shall too. I _won't_ take all the advantages."

"Who said I had any notion of leaving school? Not a bit of it. My plan won't affect my school work. But of that later. Now to our capital.

Mother will have at the outside nineteen hundred a year, and out of that she will have to pay five hundred rent for this house. That leaves fourteen hundred wherewith to feed and clothe five people, doesn't it? Now, she can't possibly _feed_, let alone clothe, us for less than twenty dollars a week, can she? And out of that must come fuel which is no small matter now-a-days. That leaves only three hundred and sixty dollars for all the other expenses of the year, and, Nornie, it isn't enough. We _could_ live on less in town I dare say, but town is no place for Jean while she's so little. She'd give up the ghost without a place to romp in. Then, too, mother loves every stone in Riveredge, and she is going to _stay_ here if I can manage it. So listen: You know what a fuss everybody at the fair made over my nut-fudge and pralines. Well, I'm going to make candy to sell----."

"Oh, Constance, you can't! You mustn't!" interrupted Eleanor whose instincts shrank from any member of her family launching upon a business enterprise.

"I can and I _must_," contradicted Constance positively. "And what is more, I shall. So don't have a conniption fit right off, because I've thought it all out and I know just exactly what I can do."

"Mother will _never consent_," said Eleanor firmly, and added, "and I hope she won't."

"Now Nornie, see here," cried Constance with decided emphasis. "What _is_ the use of being so ridiculously high and mighty? We aren't the first people, by a long chalk, that have met with financial reverses and been forced to do something to earn a livelihood. The woods are full of them and they are none the less respected either. For my part, I'd rather hustle round and earn my own duddies than settle down and wish for them, and wail because I can't have them while mother strives and struggles to make both ends meet. I haven't _brains_ to do big things in the world, but I've got what Mammy calls 'de bangenest han's' and we'll see what they'll bang out!" concluded Constance resolutely.

"Mammy will never let you," cried Eleanor, playing what she felt to be her trump card.

"On the contrary, Mammy is going to _help_ me," announced Constance triumphantly.

"_What_, Mammy consent to a Blairsdale going into trade?" cried Eleanor, feeling very much as though the foundations of the house were sinking.

"Even so, Lady," answered Constance, laughing at her sister's look of dismay. "Old Baltie was not rescued for naught. His days of usefulness were not ended as you shall see. But don't look so horrified, and, above all else, don't say one word to mother. There is no use to worry her, and remember she _is_ a Blairsdale and it won't be so easy to bring her to my way of thinking as it has been to bring _you_; you're only half one, like myself, and remember we've got Carruth blood to give us mercantile instincts."

"As though the Carruths were not every bit as good as the Blairsdales," brindled Eleanor indignantly.

"c.o.c.k-a-doodle! See its feathers ruffle. You are as s.p.u.n.ky as the Henry's game c.o.c.k," cried Constance laughing and gathering Eleanor's head into her arms to maul it until her hair came down.

"Well," retorted Eleanor, struggling to free herself from the tempestuous embrace, "so they are."

"Yes, my beloved sister. I'll admit all that, but bear in mind that _their_ ancestors were born in Pennsylvania _not_ in 'ole Caroliny, and that's the difference 'twixt tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee. I don't believe Mad Anthony stopped to consider whether he was a patrician or a plebeian when he was storming old Stony Point, or getting fodder for Valley Forge, so I don't believe _I_ will, when I set out to hustle for frocks and footgear for his descendants. So put your pride in your pocket, Nornie, and watch me grow rich and the family blossom out in luxuries undreamed of. I'm going to _do_ it: you'll see," ended Constance in a tone so full of hope and courage that Eleanor then and there resolved not to argue the point further or discourage her.

"When are you going to begin this enterprise?" she asked.

"This very day. I'm only waiting for Mammy to come back from market with some things I need, and there she is now. Good-bye. Go look after the little Mumsie, or Jean; you'd find your hands full with the last undertaking, no doubt," and with a merry laugh Constance ran down-stairs to greet Mammy who was just entering the back door.

CHAPTER XI

First Ventures

"Did you get all the things, Mammy?" cried Constance, as she flew into the kitchen where Mammy stood puffing and panting like a grampus, for the new home was at the top of a rather steep ascent and the climb took the old woman's breath.

"Co'se Ise got 'em," panted Mammy, as she untied the strings of her bright purple worsted hood. "Dar dey is, all ob 'em, eve'y one, an yo'

kin git busy jes' as fas' as yo's a mind ter. But, la, honey, don' yo'

let yo' _ma_ know nothin' 'tall 'bout it, 'cause she lak 'nough frail me out fer lettin' yo' do hit. But sumpin 's gotter be done in dis yere fambly. What wid de rint fer _dis_ place, an' de taxes for de yether, an' de prices dey's teken' ter chargin', fer t'ings ter _eat_, I 'clar' ter goodness dar ain't gwine be nuffin 'tall lef' fer we-all ter fall back on ef we done teken sick, er bleeged ter do sumpin'

extra," ended Mammy as she bustled about putting away her things and untying the packages as Constance lifted them from the basket.

"Yes, you've got every single thing I need, Mammy, and now I'll begin right off. Which kettles and pans can you spare for my very own? I don't want to bother to ask every time and if I have my own set at the very beginning that saves bother in the end," cried Constance, as she slipped her arms through the shoulder straps of a big gingham ap.r.o.n and after many contortions succeeded in b.u.t.toning it back of her shoulders.

"Dar you is!" said Mammy, taking from their hooks, above her range two immaculate porcelain saucepans, and standing them upon the well-scrubbed kitchen table with enough emphasis to give the transfer significance. "Dey's yours fer keeps, but don' yo' let me ketch yo'

burnin' de bottoms of 'em."

Mammy could not resist this authoritative warning. Then bustling across to her pantry she took out three shining pans and placed them beside the saucepans, asking:

"Now is yo' fixed wid all de impert'nances ob de bisness?"

"All but the fire, Mammy," laughed Constance, rolling up her sleeves to disclose two strong, well-rounded arms.

"Well yo' fire's gwine ter be gas _dis_ time, chile'. Yo' kin do what yo's a-mind ter wid dat little gas refrig'rator, what yo' turns on an'

off wid de spiggots; _I_ aint got er mite er use fer hit. It lak ter scare me mos' ter deaf de fust mawnin' I done try ter cook de breckfus on it,--sputterin' an' roarin' lak it gwine blow de hull house up.

No-siree, I ain' gwine be pestered wid no sich doin's 's _dat_. Stoves an' wood 's good 'nough fer _dis_ 'oman," a.s.serted Mammy with an empathic wag of her head, for she had never before seen a gas range, and was not in favor of innovations.

"Then I'm in luck," cried Constance, as she struck a match to light up her "gas refrigerator," Mammy meanwhile eying her with not a little misgiving, and standing as far as possible from the fearsome thing.

"Tek keer, honey! Yo' don' know what dem new-fangled mak'-believe stoves lak ter do. Fust t'ing yo' know it bus' wide open mebbe."

"Don't be scared, Mammy. They are all right, and safe as can be if you know how to handle them, and lots less trouble than the stove."

"Dat may be too," was Mammy's skeptical reply. "But _I'll_ tek de trouble stidder de chance of a busted haid."

Before long the odor of boiling sugar filled the little kitchen, the confectioner growing warm and rosy as she wielded a huge wooden spoon in the boiling contents of her saucepans, and whistled like a song thrush. Constance Carruth's whistle had always been a marvel to the members of her family, and the subject of much comment to the few outsiders who had been fortunate enough to hear it, occasionally, for it was well worth hearing. It had a wonderful flute-like quality, with the softest, tenderest, low notes. Moreover, she whistled without any apparent effort, or the ordinary distortion of the mouth which whistling generally involves. The position of her lips seemed scarcely altered while the soft sounds fell from them. But she was very shy about her "one accomplishment," as she laughingly called it, and could rarely be induced to whistle for others, though she seldom worked without filling the house with that birdlike melody. As she grew more and more absorbed with her candy-making the clear, sweet notes rose higher and higher, their rapid _crescendo_ and increasing _tempo_ indicating her successful progress toward a desired end.

While apparently engaged in preparing a panful of apples, Mammy was covertly watching her, for, next to her baby, Jean, Constance was Mammy's pet.

When the candy was done, Constance poured it into the pans.

"Now in just about two jiffies that will be ready to cut. Keep one eye on it, won't you Mammy, while I run up-stairs for my paraffin paper,"

she said, as she set the pans outside to cool and whisked from the kitchen, Mammy saying under her breath as she vanished:

"If folks could once hear dat chile _whis'le_ dey'd hanker fef ter hear it agin, an' dey'd keep on a hankerin' twell dey'd _done_ hit.

She beat der bu'ds, an' dat's a fac'."

"Now I guess I can cut it," cried Constance, as she came hurrying back.

The sudden chill of the keen November air had made the candy the exact consistency for cutting into little squares, and in the course of the next half hour they were all cut, carefully wrapped in bits of paraffin paper and neatly tied in small white paper packages with baby-ribbon of different colors. Four dozen as inviting parcels of delicious home-made candy as any one could desire, and all made and done up within an hour and a half.

"There, Mammy! What do you think of _that_ for my initial venture?"

asked Constance, looking with not a little satisfaction upon the packages as they lay in the large flat box into which she had carefully packed them.

"Bate yo' dey hits de markit spang on de haid," chuckled Mammy. "An'

now _I'se_ gwine tek holt. La, ain' I gwine cut a dash, dough! Yo' see _me_," and hastily donning her hood and shawl, and catching up an apple from her panful, off Mammy hurried to the little stable which stood in one corner of the small grounds, where Baltie had lived, and certainly flourished since the family came to dwell in this new home.

Mammy never entered that stable without some tidbit for her pet, for she had grown to love the blind old horse as well as Jean did, and was secretly consumed with pride at his transformation. As she entered the stable, Baltie greeted her with his soft nicker.