"Good for you!" cried Mr. Abercrombie. "You're a smart little girl, and a good speller. I'll take all the macaroons you have."
Greatly elated, Marjorie referred the sale to Miss Merington, and that lady was very much pleased when Mr. Abercrombie gave her a good-sized banknote, and declined to take any change.
"For the good of the cause," he said, waiving away the proffered change.
"And now," their eccentric customer went on, "I've just a little more money to spend at this booth, for I've promised one or two other friends to buy some of their wares. But, Miss Rosycheeks, I'll tell you what I'll do."
He looked at Marjorie so teasingly that she felt sure he was going to ask her to spell something else, and this time she feared she would fail.
"I'll do this," proceeded Mr. Abercrombie: "I'll buy anything for sale at this booth that our young friend, the paragon speller, can not spell!"
Marjorie's eyes sparkled. She wasn't really a "paragon speller," and she felt sure there must be something that was beyond her knowledge. But, somehow, all the things seemed to have simple names. Any one could spell mittens and muffs and mats. And though mandolin and marmalade were harder, yet she conscientiously realized that she could spell those correctly.
"I don't see anything," she said, at last, slowly and regretfully.
"Then I save my money, and you save your reputation as a speller," said Mr. Abercrombie, jocosely, as he jingled some silver in his pocket.
"Oh, wait a minute!" cried Marjorie. "There's that handsome clock! Miss Merington said it's malachite, and I haven't the least idea how to spell that!"