hen it was all
dumped into the big empty barn at the Wegg farm the poor agent had no
idea what to do with it.

"See here," said Nick Thorne, who had done the hauling, "you've got to
let a woman inter this deal, Peggy."

"That's what my wife says, gum-twist her."

"Keep yer ol' woman out'n it. She'd spile a rotten apple."

"Who then, Nick?"

"Why, school-teacher's the right one, I guess. They've got a vacation
now, an' likely she'll come over here an' put things to rights. Peggy,
that air new furniture's the rambunctionest stuff thet ever come inter
these parts, an' it'll make the ol' house bloom like a rose in Spring.
But folks like us hain't got no call to tech it. You fetch
school-teacher."

Peggy sighed. He was keeping track of his time and charging John Merrick
at the rate of two dollars a day, being firmly resolved to "make hay
while the sun was shining" and absorb as much of the money placed in his
hands as possible. To let "school-teacher" into this deal and be obliged
to pay her wages was an undesirable thing to do; yet he reflected that
it might be wise to adopt Nick Thorne's suggestion.

So next morning he drove the liveryman's sorrel mare out to Thompson's
Crossing, where the brick school-house stood on one corner and Will
Thompson's residence on another. A mile away could be seen the spires of
the little church at Hooker's Falls.

McNutt hitched his horse to Thompson's post, walked up the neat pebbled
path and knocked at the door.

"Ethel in?" he asked of the sad-faced woman who, after some delay,
answered his summons.

"She's in the garden, weedin'."

"I'll go 'round," said the agent.

The garden was a bower of roses. Among them stood a slender girl in a
checked gingham, tying vines to a trellis.

"Morn'n', Ethel," said the visitor.

The girl smiled at him. She was not very pretty, because her face was
long and wan, and her nose a bit one-sided. But her golden hair sparkled
in the sun like a mass of spun gold, and the smile was winning in its
unconscious sweetness. Surely, such attractions were enough for a mere
country girl.

Ethel Thompson had, however, another claim to distinction. She had been
"eddicated," as her neighbors acknowledged in awed tones, and "took a
diploma from a college school at Troy." Young as she was, Ethel had
taught school for two years, and might have a life tenure if she cared
to retain the position. As he looked at her neat gown and noted the
grace and ease of