“Yes, indeed, Billy kin go,” Mrs. Wiggs was saying.  “I’m mighty glad you drove him by home to git on his good coat.  He never was to the fair grounds before; it’ll be a big treat.  How’s Mr. Dick to-day?”

“No better,” said Redding; “he coughed all night.”

“He was takin’ a nap o’ sleep when I went to clean up this mornin’,” said Mrs. Wiggs, “so I didn’t disturb him.  He ain’t fer long, pore feller!”

“No, poor chap,” said Redding, sadly.

Mrs. Wiggs saw the shadow on his face, and hastened to change the subject.  “What do you think of Asia’s fence?” she asked.

“What about it?”

“She done it herself,” said Mrs. Wiggs.  “That an’ the pavement, too.  Mrs. Krasmier’s goat et up her flowers las’ year, an’ this year she ’lowed she’d fix it different.  Chris Hazy, that boy over yonder with the peg-stick, helped her dig the post-boles, but she done the rest herself.”

“Well, she is pretty clever!” said Redding, almost incredulously, as he examined the fence and sidewalk.  “How old is she?”

“Fourteen, goin’ on to fifteen.  Asia, come here.”

The girl left the flower-bed she was digging, and came forward.

“Not a very big girl, are you?” said Redding, smiling at her.  “How would you like to go up to the tile factory, and learn to do decorating?”

Her serious face lit up with great enthusiasm; she forgot her shyness, and said, eagerly:  “Oh, yes, sir!  Could I?”

Before Redding could answer, Mrs. Wiggs broke in: 

“You’d be gittin’ a artist, Mr. Bob!  Them fingers of hers kin do anything.  Last fall she built that there little greenhouse out of ole planks, an’ kep’ it full of flowers all winter; put a lamp in durin’ the cold spell.  You orter see the things she’s painted.  And talk about mud pictures!  She could jes’ take some of that there mud under that hoss’s feet, an’ make it look so much like you, you wouldn’t know which was which.”

Billy’s appearance at this moment saved Redding from immediate disgrace.

“You come to the office with Billy in the morning,” he called to Asia, as they started off; “we’ll see what can be done.”

Asia went back to her digging with a will; the prospect of work, of learning how to do things right, and, above all, of learning how to paint, filled her with happiness.

“If I was you I’d make that bed in the shape of a star,” said her mother, breaking in on her rejections.  “Why don’t you make it a mason star?  Yer pa was a fine mason; it would be a sort of compliment to him.”

“What is a mason star like?” asked Asia.

“Well, now I ain’t right sure whether it ’a got five points or six.  Either way will do.  Lands alive, I do believe there comes Miss Lucy!”