The curls moved vigorously up and down.

“I think I should,” she decided.

“Good!  Now you wait and I’ll do it up.”

He wrapped the toy vane in a piece of paper and handed it to his small patron.  She gravely produced a miniature velvet purse with the remnants of some bead fringe hanging to its lower edge and laid a dime and four pennies on the top of a packing case between them.  It was growing dark in the shop and Jed lighted one of the bracket lamps.  Returning, he found the coins laid in a row and Miss Armstrong regarding them somewhat soberly.

“There isn’t any more than fourteen, is there?” she asked.  “I mean—­I mean fourteen cents takes all of it, doesn’t it?”

Jed looked at her face.  His eye twinkled.

“Well, suppose it didn’t?” he asked.  “What then?”

She hesitated.  “Why,” she stammered, “if—­if there was one left over I—­maybe I could buy something tomorrow at the candy store.  Not to-day, ’cause I told Mamma I wouldn’t to-day ’cause I was sick at my stomach yesterday—­but to-morrow I could.”

Mr. Winslow carefully counted the coins and then, spreading them out on his big palm, showed them to her.

“There!” he said.  “Now you’ve given me the fourteen cents.  I’ve got ’em, haven’t I?”

Miss Barbara solemnly nodded.

“Yes,” continued Jed.  “Now I’ll put ’em back in your wallet again.  There they are, shut up in the wallet.  Now you put the wallet in your pocket.  Now take your fish bundle under your arm.  There! now everything’s settled.  You’ve got the fish, haven’t you?  Sartin’.  Yes, and I’ve been paid for it, haven’t I?”

The child stared at him.

“But—­but—­” she began.

“Now—­now don’t let’s argue about it,” pleaded Jed, plaintively.  “Argum always gives me the—­er—­epizootic or somethin’.  You saw me have the money right in my hand.  It’s all settled; think it over and see if it ain’t.  You’ve got the fish and I’ve had the fourteen cents.  Now run right along home and don’t get lost.  Good-night.”

He led her gently to the door and closed it behind her.  Then, smiling and shaking his head, he returned to the inner shop, where he lit the lamps and sat down for another bit of painting before supper.  But that bit was destined not to be done that night.  He had scarcely picked up his brush before the doorbell rang once more.  Returning to the outer room, he found his recent visitor, the swordfish under one arm and the doll under the other, standing in the aisle between the stacked mills and vanes and looking, so it seemed to him, considerably perturbed.

“Well, well!” he exclaimed.  “Back again so soon?  What’s the matter; forget somethin’, did you?”

Miss Armstrong shook her head.

“No-o,” she said.  “But—­but—­”

“Yes?  But what?”

“Don’t you think—­don’t you think it is pretty dark for little girls to be out?”