“I don’t know,” said Marjorie, hoping the “turn” was not far off.

“I’d advise him to—­summers, too, for that matter.  These little places don’t pay.  Wants to sell, he tells me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Real estate’s too low; ’tisn’t a good time to sell.  But it’s a good time to buy; and I’ll buy your place and give it to Hollis if he’ll settle down and work it.”

“It would take more than that farm to keep me here,” said Hollis, quickly; “but, thank you all the same, father; Herbert would jump at the chance.”

“Herbert shan’t have it; I don’t like his wife; she isn’t respectful to Herbert’s father.  He wants to exchange it for city property, so he can go into business, he tells me.”

“Oh, does he?” exclaimed Marjorie.  “I didn’t know that.”

“Girls are rattlebrains and chatterboxes; they can’t be told everything,” he replied shortly.

“I wonder what makes you tell me, then,” said Marjorie, demurely, in the fun of the repartee forgetting for the first time the bits of yellow ware secreted among the hemlock boughs.

Throwing back his head Captain Rheid laughed heartily, he touched the horses with the whip, laughing still.

“I wouldn’t mind having a little girl like you,” he said, reining in the horses at the turn of the road; “come over and see marm some day.”

“Thank you,” Marjorie said, rising.

Giving the reins to Hollis, Captain Rheid climbed out of the wagon that he might lift the child out himself.

“Jump,” he commanded, placing her hands on his shoulders.

Marjorie jumped with another “thank you.”

“I haven’t kissed a little girl for twenty years—­not since my little girl died—­but I guess I’ll kiss you.”

Marjorie would not withdraw her lips for the sake of the little girl that died twenty years ago.

“Good-bye, Mousie, if I don’t see you again,” said Hollis.

“Good-bye,” said Marjorie.

She stood still till the horses’ heads were turned and the chains had rattled off in the distance, then, very slowly, she walked on in the dusty road, forgetting how soft and green the grass was at the wayside.

“She’s a proper nice little thing,” observed Hollis’ father; “her father wouldn’t sell her for gold.  I’ll exchange my place for his if he’ll throw her in to boot.  Marm is dreadful lonesome.”

“Why don’t she adopt a little girl?” asked Hollis.

“I declare!  That is an idea!  Hollis, you’ve hit the nail on the head this time.  But I’d want her willing and loving, with no ugly ways.  And good blood, too.  I’d want to know what her father had been before her.”

“Are your boys like you, father?” asked Hollis.

“God forbid!” answered the old man huskily.  “Hollis, I want you to be a better man than your father.  I pray every night that my boys may be Christians; but my time is past, I’m afraid.  Hollis, do you pray and read your Bible, regular?”