By this time Bessie had discovered a tin-type of herself among a lot of cheap pictures, and her wrath burst forth on John, who was just congratulating himself on having escaped his aunt's wrath.
"I'd like to know what right you have to offer my picture for sale," she said, indignantly.
"It's not yours. It's mine. You gave it to me on my birthday."
"And that's all you care for it! I'll be careful how I ever give my picture to another boy. Give it to me this minute."
"Why, no, Bess. It shows how much we admire it. Other folks do too. I had an offer for it this morning, but I couldn't make the change."
Bessie's eyes flashed; and Aunt Sue, coming to the rescue, quietly laid the picture in her bag with the curls.
"I think you had better show us your whole stock, boys," she said, calmly. "What are your skates doing here?"
"I'm going to sell them. I'd rather have a bicycle than skates any day."
"Very well; only if you part with them don't expect to have a new pair given to you when winter comes. What books have you? Why, boys, you are not going to sell your dictionary!"
"Oh, I'm tired of looking through it. The old bother!"