“Is he?” she said.  “We’ll go and see about it.”

As they drew nearer, however, Dabney discovered that carpenters as well as painters were plying their trade in and about the old homestead.  There were window-sashes piled here and blinds there, a new door or so ready for use, with bundles of shingles, and other signs of approaching “renovation.”

“Going to fix it all over,” remarked Dab.

“Yes,” replied his mother; “it’ll be as good as new.  It was well built, and will bear mending.”

When they entered the house, it became more and more evident that the “shabby” days of the Morris mansion were numbered.  There were men at work in almost every room.

Ham’s wedding trip would surely give plenty of time, at that rate, and his house would be “all ready for him” on his return.

There was nothing wonderful to Dabney in the fact that his mother went about inspecting work and giving directions.  He had never seen her do anything else, and he had the greatest confidence in her knowledge and ability.

Dabney noticed, too, before they left the place, that all the customary farm-work was going ahead with even more regularity and energy than if the owner himself had been present.

“Ham’s farm’ll look like ours, one of these days, at this rate,” he said to his mother.

“I mean it shall,” she replied, somewhat sharply.  “Now go and get out the ponies, and we’ll do the rest of our errands.”

If they had only known it, at that very moment Ham and his blooming bride were setting out for a drive at the fashionable watering-place where they had made the first stop in their wedding tour.

“Ham?” said Miranda, “it seems to me as if we were a thousand miles from home.”

“We shall be further before we get nearer,” said Ham.

“But I wonder what they are doing there,—­mother and the girls and dear little Dabney?”

“Little Dabney!” exclaimed Ham.  “Why, Miranda, do you think Dab is a baby yet?”

“No, not a baby.  But------”

“Well, he’s a boy, that’s a fact; but he’ll be as tall as I am in three years.”

“Will he ever be fat?”

“Not till after he gets his full length,” said Ham.  “We must have him at our house a good deal, and feed him up.  I’ve taken a liking to Dab.”

“Feed him up!” said Miranda, with some indignation.  “Do you think we starve him?”

“No; but how many meals a day does he get?”

“Three, of course, like the rest of us; and he never misses one of them.”

“I suppose not,” said Ham, “I never miss a meal myself, if I can help it.  But don’t you think three meals a day is rather short allowance for a boy like Dab?”

Miranda thought a moment, but then she answered, positively:  “No, I don’t.  Not if he does as well at each one of them as Dab is sure to.”

“Well,” said Ham, “that was in his old clothes, that were too tight for him.  Now he’s got a good loose fit, with plenty of room, you don’t know how much more he may need.  No, Miranda, I’m going to have an eye on Dabney.”