"And the glove money too, mamma?" asked Maggie.
"No, not the glove money. I shall keep that, and at the end of each month will give you what remains to put in the box."
"And you will keep it, mamma?"
"Yes, there it is in the corner of this drawer. You may come and take it when you want to put anything in it."
"Papa," said Bessie at dessert that day, "will you please take the fretful off my peach. I can't eat it so."
Bessie could never bear to eat or even touch a peach unless all the furze or down which grew upon it had been rubbed off, and the restless, uncomfortable feeling it gave her made her call it "the fretful."
Mr. Bradford took a peach from his little girl's plate, and as he rubbed it smooth, said to his wife, "Margaret, my dear, peaches are very plenty and very fine, and I, you know, am very fond of peach preserves."
"Very well," said Mrs. Bradford, "I will put up as many as you choose to send home."
Bessie heard, and a new thought came into her little head.
"Mamma," she said a while after, when she could speak to her mother alone,—"mamma, you told Papa you would make a great many peach preserves for him."