It was close after house-cleaning time, and rummage sales had not yet found their way into East Greenfield; so it was not very wonderful that by noon Gerry really had enough things promised her to furnish the barn with a comfort that would seem luxury to the young Jimsons and their mother.

It must be confessed that the finishing touch for Gerry was given when she leaned on the window-sill to tell the story to little lame Ruthie West, not because she expected anything there, but because she was so happy that she could not help stopping to share it with some one.  Ruthie laughed over the yellow soap feelingly offered by Mr. Evans, and cried over the cook-stove, and when it was all told exclaimed earnestly:—­

“Oh, Gerry, I must do something; I just must!  I haven’t any things, even if you needed them; but you come in, please, and get my Japanese box out of the bureau drawer.  It’s got my gold piece in it.  It’s truly mine, Gerry; Mr. Graves gave it to me last Christmas, and I haven’t been able to think of anything nice enough to do with it.  Now I know.  You take it, Gerry, and buy some pretty stuff to make some frilly things, and some curtains, maybe—­if there’s enough.  They’ll love to have pretty things; I know they will.  And, Gerry, maybe it will help them to be good, those little Jimson-weeds,” quoting Aunt Serinda softly.

Tears rolled down Gerry’s cheeks onto the shining piece of gold in Ruthie’s hand.

“You—­darling!” she whispered, and could not say anything more.

Mother Brace’s potatoes grew quite cold while she listened to Gerry’s excited reports, and grew as much excited herself in the hearing.

“I’ll begin to sweep the barn this afternoon,” she declared, hustling the dishes off the table.  “I don’t want that poor Jimson soul to wait a minute longer than she must to have it all.”

The dust was flying in clouds from the open barndoors when the “poor Jimson soul” herself came dragging up the path with the baby in her arms and a dingy black dress, manifestly borrowed, trailing forlornly behind her.

“Oh, my!” thought Gerry as she watched her coming.  “I never remembered the clothes.  They’ll have to have them.  I wonder—­

“Come right in, Mrs. Jimson,” she interrupted herself; “come and sit down here.  You must be tired with such a long walk.”

“I ain’t no more tired than I always am,” Mrs. Jimson answered drearily, dropping into the rocker Gerry pushed forward.  “I ain’t never been rested, and I don’t never expect to be.  I’ve come to see if you’ve got anything I can do to earn some money.  Folks has been good, and we’ve had enough to eat so far; but it stands to reason I’ve got to do something myself.”

“Yes,” Gerry nodded gravely, “and the children will have to help.  Maybe Tad can do some of the gardening ol—­Mr. Jimson used to do, and Jennie’s big enough to take care of the little ones and help do the housework so you can go out part of the time.”