ance on each side of the trees there were well kept lawns.

"My father likes a place to be beautiful as well as useful," said
Eleanor, "so he had those lawns made when we built the house. All the
farmers in the neighborhood thought it was an awful waste of good land,
but since then some of them have come to see that if they ever wanted to
sell their places people would like them better if they were pretty, and
they've copied this place a good deal in the neighborhood.

"We're very glad, because right now Cheney County is the prettiest
farming section anywhere around, and the crops are about the best in the
state, too. So, you see, we seem to have shown them that they can have
pretty places and still make money. And sometimes those lawns are used
for grazing sheep, so they're useful as well as ornamental."

Then in a few minutes they were at the house, and the smiling
housekeeper, whom Eleanor introduced to the girls as Mrs. Farnham,
greeted them.

"Come right in," she said, heartily. "There's supper ready and
waiting--fried chicken, and corn bread, and honey, and creamed potatoes,
and fresh milk, and apple pie and--"

"Stop, stop, do, Mrs. Farnham!" pleaded Eleanor. "You'll make me so
hungry that I won't want to wash my hands!"

And the supper, when they came to it, was just as good to taste as it
was to hear about. Everything they ate, it seemed, came from the farm.
No store goods were ever used on the table in that house. And Bessie,
used to a farm where chickens, except when they were old and tough, were
never eaten, but kept for sale, wondered at the goodness of everything.

That night, although it was not part of the plan, there was an informal
camp fire, held about a blazing pyre of logs. But it did not last long,
for everyone was tired and ready indeed for the signal that Eleanor gave
early by lifting her voice in the notes of the good-night song, _Lay
Me to Sleep in Sheltering Flame_.

Bessie, rather to her surprise, found that she was not to room with
Margery Burton, or Minnehaha, as she had expected, but was to share a
big room, under the roof, with Dolly Ransom, the merry, mischievous
Kiama, as she was known to her comrades of the fire.

"Do you mind if I snore?" asked Dolly promptly, when they were alone
together. "Because I probably shall, and everyone makes such a fuss, and
acts as if it was my fault."

"I'm so tired I shan't even hear you," said Bessie, with a laugh. "Snore
all you like, I won'