"And eat in our shirt-sleeves!" said Uncle John, with a glowing face.

"And have a cow and some pigs!" cried the girl.

"Pah!" said the Major, scornfully. "You talk as if it were a real farm,
instead of a place no one would have as a gift."

Uncle John looked sober again.

"Anyone live on the place, Major?" he inquired.

"I believe not. It's gone to ruin and decay the last few years."

"But it could be put into shape?"

"Perhaps so; at an expense that will add to your loss."

"Never mind that."

"If you want farm life, why don't you rent a respectable farm?" demanded
the Major.

"No; this is my farm. I own it, and it's my bounded duty to live on it,"
said Uncle John, stubbornly. "Write to that real estate fellow at
Millville tomorrow and tell him to have the place fixed up and put into
ship-shape order as quickly as possible. Tell him to buy some cows and
pigs and chickens, and hire a man to look after them. Also a horse and
buggy, some saddle horses----"

"Go slow, John. Don't leave such a job to a country real estate dealer.
If I remember right the fellow wrote like a blacksmith. If you want
horses and rigs, let Hutchinson send you down the right sort, with an
experienced groom and stable hands. But I'm not sure there will be a
place to put them."

"Oh, Uncle!" exclaimed Patsy; "don't let us have all those luxuries. Let
us live a simple life on the farm, and not degrade its charms by adding
city fixin's. The cow and the chickens are all right, but let's cut out
the horses until we get there. Don't you know, dear, that a big
establishment means lots of servants, and servants mean worry and
strife? I want to let down the bars for the cow when she moos, and milk
her myself."

"It takes a skilled mechanic to milk a cow," objected the Major.

"But Patsy's right!" cried her uncle, with conviction. "We don't want
any frills at all. Just tell your man, Major, to put the place into good
living condition."

"Patrichia," softly remarked the Major, with an admiring glance at his
small daughter, "has more sinse in her frizzled head than both of us put
together."

"If she hadn't more than you," retorted Uncle John, with a grin, "I'd
put a candle inside her noodle and call her a Jack-Lantern."

CHAPTER II.

THE AGENT.

The Major hunted up the real estate dealer's former letter as soon as he
reached his office next morning. The printed letter-head, somewhat
blurred, because too much ink had been used,