“If the poor girl didn’t do well, Abrahama had a good deal to answer for,” said Sylvia, thoughtfully.  She looked worried.  Then again that expression of almost idiotic joy overspread her face.  “That old White homestead is beautiful—­the best house in town,” she said.

“There’s fifty acres of land with it, too,” said Meeks.

Sylvia and Henry looked at each other.  Both hesitated.  Then Henry spoke, stammeringly: 

“I—­never knew—­just how much of an income Abrahama had,” he said.

“Well,” replied the lawyer, “I must say not much—­not as much as I wish, for your sakes.  You see, old Abraham had a lot of that railroad stock that went to smash ten years ago, and Abrahama lost a good deal.  She was a smart woman; she could work and save; but she didn’t know any more about business than other women.  There’s an income of about—­well, about six hundred dollars and some odd cents after the taxes and insurance are paid.  And she has enough extra in the Alford Bank to pay for her last expenses without touching the principal.  And the house is in good repair.  She has kept it up well.  There won’t be any need to spend a cent on repairs for some years.”

“Six hundred a year after the taxes and insurance are paid!” said Sylvia.  She gaped horribly.  Her expression of delight was at once mean and infantile.

“Six hundred a year after the taxes and insurance are paid, and all that land, and that great house!” repeated Henry, with precisely the same expression.

“Not much, but enough to keep things going if you’re careful,” said Meeks.  He spoke deprecatingly, but in reality the sum seemed large to him also.  “You know there’s an income besides from that fine grass-land,” said he.  “There’s more than enough hay for a cow and horse, if you keep one.  You can count on something besides in good hay-years.”

Henry looked reflective.  Then his face seemed to expand with an enormous idea.  “I wonder—­” he began.

“You wonder what?” asked Sylvia.

“I wonder—­if it wouldn’t be cheaper in the end to keep an—­automobile and sell all the hay.”

Sylvia gasped, and Meeks burst into a roar of laughter.

“I rather guess you don’t get me into one of those things, butting into stone walls, and running over children, and scaring horses, with you underneath most of the time, either getting blown up with gasolene or covering your clothes with mud and grease for me to clean off,” said Sylvia.

“I thought automobiles were against your principles,” said Meeks, still chuckling.

“So they be, the way other folks run ’em,” said Henry; “but not the way I’d run ’em.”

“We’ll have a good, steady horse that won’t shy at one, if we have anything,” said Sylvia, and her voice had weight.

“There’s a good buggy in Abrahama’s barn,” said Meeks.

Sylvia made an unexpected start.  “I think we are wicked as we can be!” she declared, violently.  “Here we are talking about that poor woman’s things before she’s done with them.  I’m going right over there to see if I can’t be of some use.”