e cultivation of the grove," she
said with the sublime assurance of utter ignorance, "and thus we shall
get our orange-grove at no cost whatever."

She was so much in earnest that the Invalid was actually convinced by
her arguments, which, to do her justice, were not original, but were
filched from the enthusiastic journal before alluded to. It was decided
that we were to go to farming. It is true none of us knew anything
about the business except such waifs of experience as remained to the
Invalid after thirty years' absence from grandpa's farm, where he used
to spend the holidays. Holidays were in winter in those times, and his
agricultural experience had consisted principally in cracking butternuts
and riding to the wood-lot on the ox-sled. But this was of no
consequence, as Hope and Merry agreed, since there were plenty of books
on the subject, and, besides, there were the Florida newspapers!

"I warn you I wash my hands of the whole concern," the Pessimist had
said. "You'll never make farming pay."

"Why not?"

"Because you won't."

"But why, because?"

"The idea of women farming!"

"Oh, well, if you come to that, I should just like to show you what
women can do," cried Merry; and this unlucky remark of the Pessimist
settles the business. There is no longer any question about farming.

No one could deny that the house was pretty, and comfortable too, when
at last the carpenter and painter had done their work, and the curtains
and the easy-chairs and the bookshelves had taken their places, and the
great fire of pine logs was lighted, and the mocking-bird's song
streamed in with the sunlight through the open door and between the
fluttering leaves of the ivy-screen at the window. The piano was always
open in the evenings, with Merry or the Pessimist strumming on the keys
or trying some of the lovely new songs; and Hope would be busy at her
table with farm-books and accounts; and the Invalid, in his easy-chair,
would be listening to the music and falling off to sleep and rousing
himself with a little clucking snore to pile more lightwood on the fire;
and the mocking-bird in his covered cage would wake too and join lustily
in the song, till Merry smothered him up in thicker coverings.

The first duty was evident. "Give it a name, I beg," Merry had said the
very first evening in the new home; and the house immediately went into
committee of the whole to decide upon one. Hope proposed Paradise
Plantation; Merry