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 and money—because I didn't know enough to dig out your old suit-case. Anyhow, I think it is cowardly to market with a bag or suit-case. My grandmother and aunts carried a market basket, and so shall I."

"Hurrah!" shouted Mr. Larry. "A fig for convention-bound neighbors. But do you own one?"

"I just do," responded Mrs. Larry proudly. "Aunt Myra sent it to me last fall, packed with pickles and jelly."

And the next morning, after wafting a kiss to the sleeping Mr. Larry and stealing a glimpse at the rosy-cheeked small Larrys, she drank a cup of hot coffee, munched a roll, and by eight o'clock was at the Queensboro Bridge market.

But she was not accompanied by Claire on this trip. The girl's enthusiasm was beautiful to see, but Mrs. Larry was a cautious person. She did not want to kill it by drawing on it at seven A. M. The family of Pierce were not early risers.

"Ah, this is something like," she sighed as she saw the groups of farm wagons from Long