Sally's yelps brought Aunt Hetty out of the schoolhouse, just too late to see the worst of the dunking. But she did spot Sara at the head of the crowd of children, and long experience informed Aunt Hetty that Sara had just become a real leader among the Avonlea youth.

"Sara Stanley," Aunt Hetty called out. "You come here this minute."

Oh oh! Sara thought.

She felt ready to endure any amount of trouble, though, in return for the confession that had just been extracted from Sally Potts. The confession had had all the satisfaction of divine retribution.

Sara turned -- and was greeted by the unusual sight of Wellington Campell standing beside her aunt in the schoolyard. As decorously as she could, Sara walked back. She tried hard not look as though she had just been throwing insufferable girls into creeks.

"How do you so, Mr. Campbell," she said, as the man gravely shook hands with her.

Sara followed her aunt and Mr.Campbell inside the school, and when Mr. Campbell dared to prech himself sideways on the edge of Aunt Hetty's hallowed desk, Aunt Hetty didn't say a word, Sara braced herself as Mr. Campbell addressed her.

"The last time we met, Sara Stanley, you were at the point of asking me for a fairly sizable donation to a certain library fund."

So that was it! Sara gritted her teeth. She had tried to bury forever the fiasco at the White Sands Hotel, but she could see that Mr. Campbell meant to resurrect the memory.

"Yes, Mr. Campbell?"

Sara braced herself more stoutly. Mr. Campbell pulled on his mustache a moment, as though planning how to approach the subject.

"But you see, young lady, I hate to part with my money unless I receive some benefit from the expenditure. Now as for your performance..."

Sara swallowed, remembering that the first thing she had heard after ending her performance was the sound of Mr. Campbell making for the door.

"I'm sorry you didn't enjoy the show, Mr. Campbell," Sara cut in hastily, anxious to avoid unflattering comments about her narration. "I'll give you your money back if you like."

All this grand gesture did was to amuse Mr. Campbell. One side of his mustache twitched.

"What makes you think I didn't enjoy it?"

"You left before the applause."

And left in a hurry, too, as though he had been waiting for the first possible moment to make his escape.

"Sara...I may call you Sara, may I?"

The request was very polite. The important Mr. Campbell seemed to be softening up right before Sara's eyes.

"Please do," Sara invited, a little relieved. "I prefer it to Story Girl, which is what everyone is calling me now."

"And a most appropriatename it is, for that's what you are, Sara Stanley, and never be ashamed of it."

Mr. Campbell showed open pleasure. Obviously, Sara thought, he had had no experience with Mrs. Ray.

"Your performance the other night," he went on, "seemed to move the audience in a way I've rarely seen."

Breath hitched in Sara's throat. When Sara had got up th nerve to speak in front of all those people, this was what she had been wanting passionately to achieve. She hoped she had done it. She felt she had sone it. But to hear Mr. Campbell say it aloud here in the schoolroom seemed suddenly to make it all quite true.

A radiant look stole across Sara's face. She seemed to be having this cinversation privately, as if Aunt Hetty weren't even there at all. "My mother used to read me that story," Sara confided, distant, cherished memories welling up.

"Your mother must have been very proud watching you."

Sara clasped her hands in front of her. Her voice fell away to a whisper.

"She passed away when I was little."

This caught Mr. Campbell by surprise. He fell silent for a long moment, then smiled sadly in fellow feeling.

"My mother passed away when I was little, too. The way you told that story, it reminded me of her."

Right then, it dawned on Sara that people never forgot their mother, no matter how grown-up they got -- even as grown-up as Mr. Campbell. And to think, she had imagined him impatient with the match girl!

"So that's why you left early," Sara breathed. "Sometimes it's a pity that your face can't show what your heart is feeling. But I suppose that's how it is for men of your stature. It would be like seeing the King of England in tears."

Mr. Campbell made a choking sound, very much as if he were smothering a laugh.

"Well, hardly the King of England!"

"Just the same," Sara went on, thinking of the awful dangers a man such as Mr. Campbell exposed himself to if he wore his feelings on his sleeve, and how hard it must be to go on being polite. "My Aunt Janet says that Fanny Tarbrush would talk the ear off a pig if she had half a chance."

Mr. Campbell tugged at his mustache to keep from laughing some more, and even Hetty smiled behind her hand. More soberly, Mr. Campbell extracted a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it, with some ceremony, to Sara.

"Sara, I want you to have this as my donation to the library fund." The paper looked just like any ordinary piece of paper. But when Sara got a good look at it, she gasped, and continued gasping until Mr. Campbell laid a kind hand on her shoulder.

"A thousand dollars? Mr. Campbell, this would build a whole new library, let alone fill one with books."

Sara supposed that Mr. Campbell had made some sort of stupendous check-writing mistake. However, he seemed to know very well what was on the slip he had handed her. He only nodded, as though building new libraries was something he did whenever he fancied some light recreation.

"That's right, but you never get something for nothing in this life. I only ask that the library be named in honor of my mother."

"And so it shall, Mr. Campbell," Aunt Hetty assured him staunchly. " And we are most grateful, all of us."

From her tone, Sara guessed that Aunt Hetty would never say another disparaging word about magic lantern shows as long as she lived.

The moment Sara had said a heartfelt goodbye to her benefactor and got outside the school again, she set out as fast as her legs could carry her down the road and across the fields to Jasper Dale's farm. Oak trees and fenceposts and nodding asters fairly shot by in her hurry to get there. She was singing inside, dancing, flying. She Didn't care how determinedly Jasper Dale had locked himself up in his house. Sara meant to get him out!

Jasper couldn't have known she was coming, but he had ventured out all on his own. Sara spotted his lanky form at the top of the pasture behind the barn. He was bent over his camera, exactly the way he had been when she had first met him. The black cloth was draped over his head and he appeared to be trying to get a bank of daisies into focus.

"Mr. Dale, Mr. Dale," Sara shouted, tearing through the gate and up the grassy slope. "I have to talk to you about what happened. Sally Potts confessed in front of the whole school. Now the whole townwill know she caused the fire, and that's not all. Mr. Campbell made a hugh donation toward the school library fund, just because he loved the show."

Unable to contain herself, Sara found that the words all came spilling out before she had even stopped running. She bent over, madly trying to catch her breath. Jasper Dale had jerked himself out from under the camera cloth and now stood like a very tall stork, staring at her through his speectacles. When Sara straightened, she told him about the thousand-dollar check all over again. Then she tried to look as dignified as she could, for what she had to say next was very important.

"I want you to know," she told Jasper sincerely, " that we couldn't have done it without you, Mr. Dale. Thank you for not letting me down."

Sara's words seemed to go thruogh Jasper like a wind shaking a tree. The gratitude shining from her eyes made him turn first a warm pink, then a fiery red. He hitched from one boot to the other and back again. His eyebrows quivered and his shoulders jumped. Last of all, his mouth worked -- and finally produced a gigantic smile.

At once, Sara let go a great whoosh of relief. He was standing taller already. He could stride into Avonlea stil gathering the glory of the magic lantern show and knowing that no one blamed him for the fire. She hadn't been wrong in luring him out of hiding after all.

"Funny how things go, isn't it?" She mused. "I was beginning to think that what Aunt Hetty said was right. You know, about what was doomed to failure once is doomed to failure twice, but I think things can sometimes turn out better the second time, don't you agree?"

Apparently, Jasper Dale did. His head bobbed again. His nice brown eyes blinked happily. Even his Adam's apple got into the act.

"You are un-un-unstoppable, Sara Stanley!" he got out in one enthusiastic rush.

Jasper tried to shake hands, but found that one hand was holding his camera cloth and the other was balancing the tripod.

"N-now you know why they called me the Awkward Man," Jasper chunckled.

Jasper Dale was actually making a joke about himself! A joke that said the nickname didn't hurt him so much any more.

Clumsily, he managed to shift things around until he got one of his hands free. With it, he clasped Sara's hand and shook it heartily. Sara broke into a sunny grin. "Well, we've both got a name, then, because they're starting to call me the Story Girl. And you know, the way things have turned out, I don't think I mind one bit!"

She never did mind, either. She grew very proud of the name, for it had won her and Jasper Dale the respect and affection of Avonlea.