either Mrs. Pritchett or Sairy had been
near Hillcrest. Now that Mr. Somers had established himself here, the
Bray girls did not expect to ever be forgiven by "Maw" Pritchett and her
daughter.

"It's too bad people are so foolish," said Lyddy, wearily. "I haven't done
anything to Sairy."

"But she and her mother think you have. By your wiles you have inveigled
Mr. Somers away from Sairy," giggled 'Phemie.

"'Phemie!" gasped her sister. "If you say such a thing again, I'll send
Mr. Somers packing!"

"Oh, shucks! Can't you see the fun of it!?"

"There is no fun in it," declared the very proper Lyddy. "It is only
disgraceful."

"I'd like to tell that young Mr. Colesworth about it," laughed 'Phemie.
"He'd just be tickled to death."

Lyddy looked at her haughtily. "You _dare_ include me in any gossip of
such a character, and I--"

"Well? You'll what?" demanded the younger girl, saucily.

"I shall feel very much like spanking you!" declared Lyddy. "And that is
just what you would deserve."

"Oh, now--don't get mad, Lyd," urged 'Phemie. "You take things altogether
too seriously."

"Well," responded the older girl, going back to the main subject, "the
problem of how we are to cook when it comes warm weather is a very, very
serious matter."

"We've just got to have a range--ought to have one with a tank, on the
end in which to heat water. I've seen 'em advertised."

"But how can we? I've gone into debt now for more than thirty dollars'
worth of commercial fertilizer. I don't dare get deeper into the mire."

"But," cried the sanguine 'Phemie, "the crops will more than pay for
_that_ outlay."

"Perhaps."

"You're a born grump, Lyddy Bray!"

"Somebody has to look ahead," sighed Lyddy. "The crops may fail. Such
things happen. Or we may get no more boarders. Or father may get worse."

"_Don't_ say such things, Lyddy!" cried her sister, stamping her foot.
"Especially about father."

The older girl put her arms about 'Phemie and the latter began to weep
on her shoulder.

"Don't let us hide our true beliefs from each other," whispered Lyddy,
brokenly. "Father is _not_ mending--not as we hoped he would, at least.
And yet the hospital doctor told Aunt Jane that there was absolutely
nothing medicine could do for him."

"I know! I know!" sobbed 'Phemie. "But don't let's talk about it. He is so
brave himself. He talks just as though he was gaining every day; but his
step is so feeble----"

"And he has no color,