LITMIR.BIZ

      The weather, in spring’s fickle way, turned cold and rainy. The rain was good news for the vegetable patch, which had a crew cut of green sprouts. But it was not good news for Kit and Stirling, who were planning to go on their very first egg-selling expedition this very afternoon. The rain was not good news for Mother and Mrs. Howard, either, because for the first time in a long time, the garden club ladies were coming for a meeting.

      Inviting the garden club ladies had been another of Aunt Millie’s ideas. Mother was reluctant. She liked things to be just so for the garden club meetings. Of course, there had been no money or time for such fussing since Dad lost his job and the boarders arrived. The meetings could never again be as fancy or elaborate as those in the old days. For one thing, Mother had sold a great deal of her good silver. But Aunt Millie had insisted they could still have a fine party. “You leave it to me,” she had said. “I’ll use energy instead of money.”

      And sure enough, when Kit saw the room set up for the party, she knew that Aunt Millie had pulled off another one of her amazing surprises. She had washed the best linen tablecloth and napkins to make them dazzling white, then starched and ironed them into stiff perfection. She had polished the one remaining silver candleholder until it gleamed. She made peach pies and apple pies that were works of art. No one would know the peaches came out of dented cans and the apples were bruised. And no one would ever guess that her dainty tea sandwiches were made of crushed bread with the crusts cut off and wilted watercress she’d made crisp by soaking it in cold water overnight. Aunt Millie had dusted, polished, and swept the house till it shone, despite the gloomy weather outside.

      Mother and Mrs. Howard, who was quite perked up by the idea of the party, placed a gorgeous bouquet of irises from the garden on the table. Then Mother stood back to survey the whole room.

      “Miss Mildred,” said Mother with a big, genuine smile. “Thank you very much for everything you’ve done. It all looks beautiful.”

      “It’s just a matter of making the best of what you’ve got,” said Aunt Millie. She shooed Mother out of the room, saying, “You skedaddle now. Go get yourself beautiful for your ladies.” Then Aunt Millie turned to Kit and Stirling. “You two skedaddle, too. Go sell those eggs. When you’re done, come see me. I’ll have some goodies for you from the party.”

      So Kit and Stirling went out into the rain. Kit pulled the wagon while Stirling kept an eye on the eggs. Aunt Millie had divided them into groups of six, which she had wrapped carefully in newspaper so that they wouldn’t crack or break. It was raining so hard that the newspaper was soon soggy. Kit tried not to jiggle the wagon as they walked around the corner and up the sidewalk to the first house.

      Kit rang the doorbell.

      “Yes?” asked the lady who came to the door.

      “Would you like to buy some eggs?” Kit asked.

      “How much…?” the lady began. She stopped and stared at Kit. “Why, aren’t you the little Kittredge girl, Margaret Kittredge’s daughter?” she asked, peering through the rain. “What are you doing selling eggs? Wherever did you get them?”

      The lady’s questions embarrassed Kit. She swallowed hard and said, “They’re from our chickens. They’re twenty-five cents a dozen.”

      “Your chickens?” asked the lady. “It’s come to that? Your family is raising chickens? In your yard?”

      Kit felt hot, the way she had in the grocery store. The lady made it sound as if her family had lost all dignity and sunk into humiliating poverty.

      Stirling glanced at Kit, then saved the situation by speaking up boldly. “Yes, the chickens live right around the corner,” he said. “So you know these eggs are good and fresh. How many do you want?”

      “Well!” said the lady. “I’ll take a dozen.” She carefully counted out her money, took the eggs, and closed the door.

      Kit turned to Stirling. “Let’s go to a street farther away,” she said.

      “Okay,” said Stirling. Kit could tell by the look in his gray eyes that he knew why she wanted to go where no one knew her.

      It was easy to sell the eggs, just as Aunt Millie had said it would be. People were pleased to buy fresh eggs delivered right to their doors at a price slightly lower than the price in the store. Kit soon had one dollar and twenty-five cents in her pocket. And yet, as she and Stirling walked home, Kit felt tired and disheartened. She knew she shouldn’t have been ashamed by the first lady’s questions, but she was, all the same. A drop of rain dripped off the end of her nose. Kit swiped it with her hand, which was also wet. Everything was miserable and discouraging because of the leaden sky and dreary rain. Then, on the sidewalk ahead, Kit saw a muddy brown lump. She stopped.

      “What is it?” asked Stirling.

      Kit knelt down next to the lump. “It’s a dog,” she said, gently touching one wet, furry ear. “A poor, starving, pitiful dog.” Attached to a string around the dog’s neck was a soggy piece of paper with a message on it. The rain had blurred the writing so that the words had inky tears dripping from them, but Kit could read: Can’t feed her anymore.

      The dog sighed, and looked at Kit with the saddest eyes she’d ever seen. The look went straight to Kit’s heart, making her forget all about her own hurt feelings. “Stirling, this dog’s been abandoned,” she said. “We’ve got to bring her home and feed her.”

      Stirling didn’t hesitate. “Let’s put her in the wagon,” he said. “Aunt Millie will know how to save her.”

      “Come on, old girl,” Kit said softly as she and Stirling awkwardly lifted the dog into the wagon. The poor creature looked like a bag of bones and fur with its short hind legs folded beneath its stomach, its long, forlorn face resting on its muddy front paws, and its droopy ears puddled around its head. The dog did not move or whimper the whole time Kit pulled the wagon home. It did not even lift its head when Kit stopped outside the screen door.

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