They wrote to Mr. Thorpe. Of course they did! They promised the and roots, and told him how glad they were that the people had been pleased with what they sent, and would he be so very kind as to write and tell them whether he had heard of anybody who had tried the apple dumplings?  
“And if any of your people are ill, dear Mr. Thorpe,” wrote Tiny, in her share of the letter, “and there is anything particular that you would like for them, will you please tell us, and perhaps it will be something we can send you.”
 
The answer to this letter was prompt. Yes, several of the women who had shared the apples had “tried” the dumplings, and been much pleased with them. Were there any more nice cheap dishes? And would it be too much trouble to print the recipes in large, clear letters? Some of the poor people who could read print quite easily could not read writing at all. And there was “something particular.” It was almost impossible for any of “his people” to buy pure milk, and he felt sure that many little children were suffering and dying for want of proper food. If he might have only two or three quarts a week of really pure, sweet milk, he would give it to those who most needed it.
 
“But perhaps,” he wrote, “it is not in your power to supply this want, and if it is not, you must not be troubled. God never asks for any service which we cannot, with His help, render to Him, and the knowledge of this should keep us from when we cannot carry out all our wishes and plans.”
 
Tiny and Johnny each received ten cents a week for spending money, and it did not take them long to decide that, if Uncle Isaac would sell them three quarts of milk a week, and lend them a milk can, they would send that milk, if it took every cent of their allowance. Uncle Isaac entered into the plan with spirit; if they took three quarts of milk a week “straight along,” he said, it would only be four cents a quart, and he would lend them a can, and deliver it, with pleasure.
 
“But that would be skimmed milk, wouldn’t it, Uncle Isaac?” asked Tiny, doubtfully.
 
“Oh no,” he answered, “not at all! It shall either be from the milking over night, with all the cream on it, or, if Johnny chooses, I’ll call him in time to milk the three quarts that very morning—perhaps that would be best, for then some of it would keep till next day, if Mr. Thorpe could find a cold place for it.”
 
The children were jubilant. There would still be eight cents a week left, and they admitted to each other that it would have been “very bad” to be reduced to “nothing at all a week!” And Johnny agreed at once to do the milking. He had been learning to milk “for fun,” and could do it quite nicely.
 
“And that’s a real , Tiny,” he said, “for the milk will be so nice and fresh, as Uncle Isaac says, that Mr. Thorpe can keep some till next day. I do hope he has a refrigerator.”
 
You will begin to see, by this time, that the things which these little people were doing by way of sharing their happiness, were not by any means all play, and that some of them were very downright work. Picking berries in the hot sun, or even flowers, when one picks them by the bushel, is not amusing. It always seemed to Johnny, on the milking mornings, that he had only just fallen asleep when Uncle Isaac gave him the gentle shaking which had been agreed upon, because a knock or call would wake the rest of the family needlessly early. Very often most interesting things, such as building a dam, or digging a pond, or making a house of fence rails, had to be put aside for hours, that the “consignment,” whatever it happened to be that time, might be ready for Uncle Isaac over night. But how sweet and happy was the play which followed their of love, and how small their sacrifices seemed, when they thought of the little children, crowded, packed, into narrow, foul-smelling courts and , and, inside of these again, into rooms!
 
The long , in which Mrs. Leslie always, and Mr. Leslie sometimes, joined, in search of and wild-flower roots, were only a delight, and quite paid for the work of printing the simple rules for cheap cookery, which Aunt Mercy told them from time to time, as she could remember.
 
They caught Uncle Isaac, nearly every time that he took one of their , slipping in something on his own account—vegetables, or fruit, or eggs, and even, sometimes, a piece of fresh meat, when one of his own sheep had been killed to supply the table.
 
“That’s a first-rate way to make a , that thy Aunt Mercy gave thee yesterday,” he said, gravely, to Tiny, on one of these occasions; “but I thought if I took the mutton, and a few carrots and potatoes, along with it, it would stand a good deal better chance of getting made than if I didn’t!”
 
And Tiny and Johnny delightedly agreed that it would.
 
Mr. Leslie came home, one evening, looking a little troubled.
 
“I haven’t seen Jim at his usual place for two or three days,” he said; “and if I could only have remembered the street and number of his , I would have made time to go and ask after him. Please write the address on a card for me, dear, and I’ll go to-morrow, or send if I can’t go.”
 
The happy days in the country had by no means made Tiny and Johnny forget Jim, in the hot and weary city; and, as Mr. Leslie often saw him at his stand, messages were exchanged, and gifts of fruit and flowers sent, which cheered his loneliness not a little, for he missed them more than even they could guess. Aunt Mercy and Uncle Isaac had heard a good deal about him, too, by this time; and it so happened that they had come to a decision concerning him that very day.
 
So now Aunt Mercy said,—
 
“I was going to speak to thee of that lad this very evening, Friend Leslie. Our hired man, David, is obliged to leave us next month, and I have taken a n............