and I asked him if he had the kind of knowledge Artemas wanted.  I supposed he might have it, as he’d been to the new schools.  It told in the letter about the expenses, and what the pay would be, and where he would find the free pass, and that he’d have to telegraph right off, and perhaps he noticed he’d have to start to-night.  Well, I guess he needn’t care even to thank me; for that look in his face was enough, and I shan’t forget it.  He wanted to know was it Artemas thought of him.  But before I could answer, he saw somebody out in the street, and went to rushing out, only he gave me another of those looks as he went, and said he’d see me before he sent the telegraph, and would take any message from me to Artemas.

* * * * *

I hadn’t more than time to write this yesterday, when Mrs. Norris came in to inquire about some garden seeds, but I guess she expected to find out what Larkin Prince had been in for, for she was calling over at Mrs. Carruthers’.  I offered her some squash seeds, and took her out the back way, through the garden, to show her how the squashes were likely to spread.  Last summer they were all over the garden.  It seems the only thing the boys let to grow.

She hadn’t more than gone when Larkin came in.  It was all settled, and other things seemed to be settled too; for who should come in with him but Clara Wylie, crying and smiling all at once.  She had to come and help Larkin to thank me because he had got the place.  After he was gone she came back for a little cry.  She didn’t seem to wonder that Larkin was the one chosen, and supposed Artemas must have known all about him, she said, as well as the company he is working for.  They probably had seen his name in the papers, she thought, when he graduated so honorably from the school.

I didn’t tell her that there wasn’t any company; that Artemas never had time to read that kind of thing in the newspapers, and would not have noticed it if he had; and that he’d left it all to me.

I can’t but say after it was all settled I had a kind of a turn myself, to think that Sam might have gone just as well, and I had been standing in his way.

* * * * *

I shall have to let down Lavinia’s gowns full two inches this summer.  Lucky I put tucks in them all last year.  Mrs. Carruthers wanted me to finish them off with a frill; lucky I didn’t, it would have been up to her ears this summer.  As for the boys, I can take them in turn,—­last year’s clothes for the next boy all the way down, and Cyrus can have his father’s.  But it seems harder to fit out Lavinia.  The ruby cashmere is as good for me as new; it is dipped.

* * * * *

I’m real sorry about the Jones’s losing their cow; it comes hard for them.  It’s better for our potato patch, particularly if they do not have another.  Cyrus ought to fence it in.

Sam came in last night.  He had heard that Larkin Prince was summoned off by a company out West, for work that would pay, and would set him up for years, and he had a free pass, and old Wylie had given his consent to his marrying Clara.  Some people, he said, had luck come to them without trying for it, just standing round.  There was he himself had been looking for just such work last year, and nobody had thought of him.