ake
a "special" of her wares, to boom them quietly with his patrons, and,
above all, to charge stiffly for dishes and courses in which they
appeared.

Throughout the recital Billy's eyes were moody with dissatisfaction.
Mrs. Mortimer saw, and waited.

"And now, begin at the beginning," Saxon begged.

But Mrs. Mortimer refused unless they agreed to stop for supper. Saxon
frowned Billy's reluctance away, and accepted for both of them.

"Well, then," Mrs. Mortimer took up her tale, "in the beginning I was a
greenhorn, city born and bred. All I knew of the country was that it
was a place to go to for vacations, and I always went to springs and
mountain and seaside resorts. I had lived among books almost all my
life. I was head librarian of the Doncaster Library for years. Then
I married Mr. Mortimer. He was a book man, a professor in San Miguel
University. He had a long sickness, and when he died there was nothing
left. Even his life insurance was eaten into before I could be free
of creditors. As for myself, I was worn out, on the verge of nervous
prostration, fit for nothing. I had five thousand dollars left, however,
and, without going into the details, I decided to go farming. I found
this place, in a delightful climate, close to San Jose--the end of the
electric line is only a quarter of a mile on--and I bought it. I paid
two thousand cash, and gave a mortgage for two thousand. It cost two
hundred an acre, you see."

"Twenty acres!" Saxon cried.

"Wasn't that pretty small?" Billy ventured.

"Too large, oceans too large. I leased ten acres of it the first thing.
And it's still leased after all this time. Even the ten I'd retained was
much too large for a long, long time. It's only now that I'm beginning
to feel a tiny mite crowded."

"And ten acres has supported you an' two hired men?" Billy demanded,
amazed.

Mrs. Mortimer clapped her hands delightedly.

"Listen. I had been a librarian. I knew my way among books. First of all
I'd read everything written on the subject, and subscribed to some of
the best farm magazines and papers. And you ask if my ten acres have
supported me and two hired men. Let me tell you. I have four hired men.
The ten acres certainly must support them, as it supports Hannah--she's
a Swedish widow who runs the house and who is a perfect Trojan during
the jam and jelly season--and Hannah's daughter, who goes to school
and lends a hand, and my nephew whom I have taken to raise and educa