Morton spoke decidedly.

"I know all that, Mother, but college takes ready money, and money is
mighty scarce these days. He's pretty well prepared for college. I've
seen to that, if we do live on a Kansas ranch."

"It isn't just the studies, though, Father Morton," said Marian. "Ernest
needs companionship. He doesn't take to most of the boys around here,
and I don't blame him. They're a coarse lot, most of them. The McBroom
boys are all right, but they live so far off and are kept so busy with
farm work, he never sees them except after church once a month or at the
lyceums in winter."

"Marian's just right, Father. The boy needs the right kind of
associations; his manners and his English have both deteriorated here,"
added Mrs. Morton.

"Perhaps, Mother, but the boy is sturdy and well and his eyes are strong
once more, and he is going to make a more worth while man on account of
this very farm life you despise. But he does need companions. I wonder
if we couldn't get Carol or Sherm out here for the summer along with the
rest."

"Father, do have some mercy on me. I can't care for such a family!" Mrs.
Morton gasped at this further adding to her burdens.

Marian studied for a moment.

"Mother, if you want to ask him, I'll take Sherm, and Ernest, too, while
Dick and Alice are here. I'd rather have Sherm than Carol, and Mother
said in her letter that the Dart's were having a sad time this year. Mr.
Dart has been ill for so long."

Chicken Little had listened in tense silence to this conversation, but
she couldn't keep still any longer.

"You are going to ask Katy and Gertie, aren't you, Mother?"

Mrs. Morton smiled but made no reply.

"You'll have to go to work and help Mother if you want any favors,
Jane," her father admonished.

The following week apparently wrought an amazing change in Chicken
Little. She let novels severely alone--even her precious set of Waverly
beckoned in vain from the bookcase shelves. She waited upon her mother
hand and foot. She set the table without being asked, and brought up the
milk and butter from the spring house before Mrs. Morton was half ready
for them. Indeed, she was so unnecessarily prompt that the butter was
usually soft and messy before the meal was ready. She even practiced
five minutes over the hour every day for good measure, conscientiously
informing her mother each time.

"Bet you can't hold out much longer, Sis," scoffed Ernest, amused at her
efforts to be virt