at was one of the reasons why there had been so little room for
human beings in their house. The little parlor, indeed, had been filled
until it put one in mind of a small furniture-store, with not room
enough to show the stock on hand; and some of the other parts of the
house required knowledge and care to walk about in them. It was bad for
a small house, truly, but not so much so when the same articles were
given a fair chance to spread themselves.

It was a treat to Dab to watch while the new carpets were put down, and
see how much more at home and comfortable all that furniture looked,
after it was moved into its new quarters. He remarked to Keziah,--

"It won't be of any use for anybody to try to sit on that sofa and play
the piano. They'll have to get up and come over."

Mrs. Kinzer took good care that the house she left should speak well of
her to the eyes of Mrs. Foster, when that lady came to superintend the
arrival of her own household goods.

The character of these, by the way, at once convinced the village
gossips that "lawyer Foster must be a good deal forehanded in money
matters." And so he was, even more so than his furniture indicated.

Ford had a wonderful deal to do with the settlement of his family in
their new home; and it was not until nearly the close of the week that
he found time for more than an occasional glance over the north fence,
although he and Dab had several times exchanged a word or two when they
met each other on the road.

"Take the two farms together," his father had said to him, "and they
make a really fine estate. I learn, too, that the Kinzers have other
property. Your young acquaintance is likely to have a very good start in
the world."

Ford had found out very nearly as much as that on his own account; but
he had long since learned the uselessness of trying to teach his father
any thing, however well he might succeed with ordinary people, and so he
said nothing.

"Dabney," said Mrs. Kinzer, that Friday evening, "you've been a great
help all the week. Suppose you take the ponies to-morrow morning, and
ask young Foster out for a drive."

"Mother," exclaimed Samantha, "I shall want the ponies myself. I've some
calls to make, and some shopping. Dabney will have to drive."

"No, Sam," said Dabney: "if you go out with the ponies to-morrow, you'll
have my old clothes to drive you. I'll go and speak to them about it."

"What do you mean?" asked Samantha.

"I mean, with Dic