But Billie was inclined to take an optimistic view of the whole affair.

“Grandfather said that there was no cause for worry; it was just a case of pitch in and get your living out of the farms again.”

“Yes,” said Kit, with fine scorn, “get your living out of the farms.  That’s all very well for him to say, when he’s got everything to do with, and twenty of the best cows in Windham County, but we moved up there on hope and a shoe-string.  And we’ve never really raised anything except chickens and children.  You know, Billie, even with a small income, how you can play country gentleman to your heart’s content in a little place like Gilead.”

“Stanley says your place, if it was properly worked, would make one of the finest fruit farms up there, ’cause all your land slopes to the south as far as the river.  He says if he had it he’d sell off the heavy timber for cash and put the money right into hardy varieties of fruit and hogs.”

Kit laughed.

“Can’t you see Helen’s face over the hogs, when she has wanted to raise bulbuls and white peacocks, with a few antelopes and gazelles wandering around.  But I suppose one could keep the hogs out of sight, they wouldn’t have to graze on the front lawn.  Did he tell Dad that?”

“I don’t know,” Billie said, doubtfully.  “You know, Uncle Jerry’s kind of hard to get confidential with over his own affairs, but I wouldn’t worry, Kit, if I were you.  Things always come out all right.”

“They do not,” returned Kit, calmly.  “Even Cousin Roxy says that you have to give Providence a helping hand now and then.  I’m going to think up a way to start those hogs rambling over the southern slopes of Greenacre Hall.”

Billie smiled at her mischievously.

“That’s the new name, isn’t it?  You’ll be a nice crowd of farmerettes next summer, won’t you?”

“Maybe it’ll happen before next summer,” prophesied Kit, sagely.  “Jean and mother like to call it Greenacre Hall, but I like Greenacre Farm, if we’re going to do any business there.  Thanks ever so much for telling me, Billie.  You may have changed the course of destiny, because I can tell you now I’m going home.”

After dinner that night Kit was out on the veranda alone for a while with only Sandy at her feet.  There was a light in the study bay window.  Miss Daphne had gone over to a meeting of the Women’s War Chest committee at the Bellamys’.  Kit was wondering whether it would be best to write first to her mother or to Jean.  Jean would be leaving a few days after Christmas for New York anyway.  How she longed to know just exactly what the family’s plans were for the winter.  But the worst of it was, one of the Robbins’ failings or virtues as a family was for each member to spare the other members all the worry and bother possible, by carefully concealing any little personal troubles.  To Kit this was all wrong.  What on earth, she used to argue, was the use of being a family if you didn’t all lean on each other and derive mutual strength and support?