twelve years old Robin was not of a light mind. When he had been only six years old he had had serious plans. He had decided that he would be a great inventor. He had also decided—a little later—that he would not be poor like his father, but would be very rich. He had begun by having a savings bank into which he put rigorously every penny that was given to him. He had been so quaintly systematic about it that people were amused and gave him pennies instead of candy and toys. He kept a little banking-book of his own. If he had been stingy he would have been a very unpleasant little boy, but he was only strict with himself. He was capable of taking from his capital to do the gentlemanly thing by Meg at Christmas.
"He has the spirit of the financier, that is all," said his father.
Since he had been with Aunt Matilda he had found opportunities to earn a trifle now and then. On the big place there were small troublesome duties the farm hands found he could be relied on to do, which they were willing to pay for. They found out that he never failed them.
"Smart little chap," they said. "Always up to time when he undertakes a thing."
To-day he had been steadily at work under the
