ye. They dresses as fine as the
Queen o' Sheba, Tom says; but they romp 'round just like they was borned
in the country. Miss Patsy she's learnin' to milk the cow, an' Miss Beth
takes care o' the chickens all by herself. They're reg'lar girls, Marthy
Clark, an' money hain't spiled 'em a bit."

This report tended to waken a great ambition in the widow's heart. Or
perhaps the ambition had already taken form and this gossip confirmed
and established it. Before she left the farm she had a chance to
secretly observe the girls, and they met with her full approval.

At supper that evening she said to her hopeful:

"Skim, I want ye to go courtin'."

Skim looked up in amazement.

"Me, ma?" he asked.

"Yes, you. It's time you was thinkin' of gittin' married."

Skim held his knife in his mouth a moment while he thought over this
startling proposition. Then he removed the cutlery, heaved a deep sigh,
and enquired:

"Who at, ma?"

"What's that?"

"Who'll I go courtin' at?"

"Skim, you 'member in thet las' book we read, 'The Angel Maniac's
Revenge,' there was a sayin' that fate knocks wunst on ev'ry man's door.
Well, fate's knockin' on your door."

Skim listened, with a nervous glance toward the doorway. Then he shook
his head.

"All fool fancy, ma," he remarked. "Don't ye go an' git no rumantic
notions out'n books inter yer head."

"Skim, am I a fool, er ain't I?"

"'Tain't fer me ter say, ma."

"Fate's knockin', an' if you don't open to it, Skim, I'll wash my hands
o' ye, an' ye kin jest starve to death."

The boy looked disturbed.

"What's aggrivatin' of ye, then?" he enquired, anxiously.

"A millionaire is come right under yer nose. He's here in Millville,
with three gals fer nieces thet's all got money to squander an's bound
to hev more."

Skim gave a low whistle.

"Ye don't mean fer me to be courtin' at them gals, do ye?" he demanded.

"Why not? Yer fambly's jest as respectible as any, 'cept thet yer Uncle
Mell backslided after the last revival, an' went to a hoss race. Yer
young, an' yer han'some; an' there's three gals waitin' ready to be won
by a bold wooer. Be bold, Skim; take fate by the fetlock, an' yer
fortun's made easy!"

Skim did not reply at once. He gulped down his tea and stared at the
opposite wall in deep thought. It wasn't such a "tarnal bad notion,"
after all, and so thoroughly impressed was he with his own importance
and merit that it never occurred to him he would meet with any