n and Maria began the rather laborious
task of coaxing the old man to bed. When once there, the medicine given,
and the soup taken, which she could not but notice that he swallowed
greedily, she seated herself before the fire, resolving that, if Amos
did not feel better by nine o'clock, she would have Barney come over for
the night, as of course she must return to be near the Infant.

As she sat there she pictured for the hundredth time how she would
invest her little capital and rearrange her life, if Amos consented to
sell her the farm,--how best to restore the home without elaborating the
care of it, and take one or two people to live with her who had been ill
or needed rest in cheerful surroundings. Not always the same two, for
that is paralyzing after a time when the freshness of energetic
influence wears off; but her experience among her friends told her that
in a city's social life there was an endless supply of overwrought
nerves and bodies.

The having a home was the motive, the guests the necessity. Then she
closed her eyes again and saw the upper portion of the rich meadow land
that had lain fallow so long turned into a flower farm wherein she would
raise blossoms for a well-known city dealer who had, owing to his
artistic skill, a market for his wares and decorative skill in all the
cities of the eastern coast. She had consulted him and he approved her
plan.

The meadow was so sheltered that it would easily have a two weeks' lead
over the surrounding country, and the desirability of her crop should
lie in its perfection rather than rarity. Single violets in frames,
lilies-of-the-valley for Easter and spring weddings, sweet peas, in
separate colours, peonies, Iris, Gladioli, asters, and Dahlias: three
acres in all. Upon these was her hope built, for with a market waiting,
what lay between her and success but work?

Yes, work and the farm. Then came the vision of human companionship,
such as her cousin Bartram and Mary Penrose shared. Could flowers and a
home make up for it? After all, what is home?

Her thoughts tangled and snapped abruptly, but of one thing she was
sure. She could no longer endure teaching singing to assorted tone-deaf
children, many of whom could no more keep on the key than a cow on the
tight rope; and when she found a talented child and gave it appreciative
attention, she was oftentimes officially accused of favouritism by some
disgruntled parent with a political pull, for that was w