"And we know what he amounts to," interrupted Rob. "You might as well finish the proverb."
"No such thing," declared Frances. "But you didn't seem to have any marked vocation, till suddenly it flashed upon me that you had done one thing wonderfully ever since you could talk, and I knew I'd hit it. Do you know what it is?"
Rob shook her head. "I had a talent for getting into scrapes, and you used to pull me out, but I never supposed the talent had market value. If you've discovered it has, you've pulled me out of another scrape with flying colors," she said.
"You could tell stories," said Frances.
"France, I was always truthful," said Rob, reproachfully.
"Now, don't be silly; you know what I mean," retorted Frances. "Don't you remember how you used to amuse all the rest of us children telling stories by the yard? And do you realize how children love to be with you? You have a regular fringe of small fry at your heels whenever you appear abroad."
"Well, I admit the Pied Piper qualities, and I remember telling stories, but I fail to see what you're getting at, ma'am," said Rob, dubiously.
"You're to tell your stories for money!" cried Frances, triumphantly. "You're to have a class of all the nice girls and boys in Fayre—and some will come from Thruston—and you are to entertain them by telling them stories for an hour and a half twice a week. You won't charge much—maybe only five dollars for twenty recitals, but that, if you had twenty children, would be a hundred dollars in ten weeks, and it would be just fun—no trouble at all to you to do it."
"You have thought out details, Frances," said Mrs. Grey. "You make me feel as though it were not only possible, but an accomplished fact."
"It is possible, Mrs. Grey," said Frances. "Mamma knows a lady in town who did it there, and it was a great success. She thinks Rob is sure of being even more successful, because she is so young the children will enjoy more being with her."