"If they sell two hundred more cakes this month and next, they can have the lamp by Christmas," Rebecca answered, "and they can get a shade by summer time; but I 'm afraid I can't help very much after to-day, because my aunt Miranda may not like to have me."
"I see. Well, that 's all right. I 'll take three hundred cakes, and that will give them shade and all."
Rebecca had been seated on a stool very near to the edge of the porch, and at this remark she made a sudden movement, tipped over, and disappeared into a clump of lilac bushes. It was a very short distance, fortunately, and the amused capitalist picked her up, set her on her feet, and brushed her off. "You should never seem surprised when you have taken a large order," said he; "you ought to have replied 'Can't you make it three hundred and fifty?" instead of capsizing in that unbusinesslike way."
"Oh, I could never say anything like that!" exclaimed Rebecca, who was blushing crimson at her awkward fall. "But it does n't seem right for you to buy so much. Are you sure you can afford it?"
"If I can't, I 'll save on something else," returned the jocose philanthropist.
"What if your aunt should n't like the kind of soap?" queried Rebecca nervously.
"My aunt always likes what I like," he returned.
"Mine does n't!" exclaimed Rebecca.
