e old man's curing, and the few vegetables remaining from the
winter's store.

"The cow was about gone dry, anyway," said the woman, Mrs. Larriper, who
was a widow and lived with her married daughter some half-mile down the
road toward Scoville, "so I didn't bother to milk her.

"You'll have to go to town to buy grain, if you want to feed her up--and
for the chickens and the horse. The old man didn't make much of a crop
last year--or them shiftless Dickersons didn't make much for him.

"I saw Sam Dickerson around here this morning. He borrowed some of the
old man's tools when Uncle Jeptha was sick, and you'll have to go after
'em, I reckon.

"Sam's the best borrower that ever was; but he never can remember to
bring things back. He says it's bad enough to have to borrow; it's too
much to expect the same man to return what he borrows.

"Now, Mrs. Dickerson," pursued Mrs. Larriper, "was as nice a girl before
she married--she was a Stepney--as ever walked in shoe-leather. And I
guess she'd be right friendly with the neighbors if Sam would let her.

"But the poor thing never gits to go out--no, sir! She's jest tied to
the house. They lost a child once--four year ago. That's the only time
I remember of seeing Sarah Stepney in church since the day she was
married--and she's got a boy--Pete--as old as you be.

"Now, on the other side o' ye there's Darrell's tract, and you won't
have no trouble there, for there ain't a house on his place, and he lets
it lie idle. Waiting for a rise in price, I 'spect.

"Some rich folks is comin' in and buying up pieces of land and making
what they calls 'gentlemen's estates' out o' them. A family named
Bronson--Mr. Stephen Bronson, with one little girl--bought the Fleigler
place only last month.

"They're nice folks," pursued this amiable but talkative lady, "and
they don't live but a mile or so along the Scoville road. You passed the
place--white, with green shutters, and a water-tower in the back, when
you walked up."

"I remember it," said Hiram, nodding.

"They're western folk. Come clear from out in Injiany, or Illiny, or
the like. The girl's going to school and she ain't got no mother, so her
father's come on East with her to be near the school.

"Well, I can't help you no more. Them hens! Well, I'd sell 'em if I was
Mis' Atterson.

"Hens ain't much nowadays, anyhow; and I expect a good many of those are
too old to lay. Uncle Jeptha couldn't fuss with chickens, and he didn't