“That’s what mother would tell me to do,” she told herself. “Father will do anything he is told, but he cannot think for himself, poor father.” It was with this thought on her mind that she made her inquiries concerning her grandfather’s farm. It was to old Dod Hunter that she put her questions. He was the earliest settler in the neighborhood, and knew every one. He was always on hand to welcome a newcomer, and was not slow in making the acquaintance of the M’Cleans and the Kennedys. He was starting for home one day when Agnes waylaid him on the edge of the wood. “I want to talk to you, Mr. Hunter,” she said; “can you stop a minute?” He leaned his rifle against a tree, folded his arms and looked her up and down. “I reckon I kin spare ye a few minutes,” he made answer. “What’s the talk?” “Do you know anything about the Muirhead place?” “Yes, I know it.” “What sort of a place is it?” “Pretty good; well cleared and has a first-rate house on it.” “Good!” He looked at her sharply. “What’s that to you?” “It is a great deal to me. I suppose somebody is on the place? It has been kept up?” “Somebody’s there.” “And takes good care of it?” “Good enough.” “Will you take me there, Mr. Hunter?” “What for?” “I have to go.” “I’ll take ye if ye hev to go, but my advice is to stay away.” “Oh, but I can’t do that. You see father isn’t quite--isn’t quite himself, and I have to take the lead.” Dod Hunter gave a slow smile. “Yer a big hefty crittur to talk o’ takin’ the lead. That’s for us men folks.” “It would be all right if father were well,” Agnes persisted. “Sometimes a woman can do a good deal. At any rate I want to go to the Muirhead place and see what it is like. Is it far from here? Is it near to where you live?” “It is the next place to me.” “That’s good, too. When can I go?” “Lemme see--I’m comin’ this way agin to-morrow, an’ I’ll start back bright and airly the next mornin’; ye could go then ef ye want.” “How far is it?” “A matter of twelve mile or so.” “Do you think they will let me stay there--the people, the tenants--till I can get back here?” “I wouldn’t advise ye to try it. Ye’d better come back to my place when ye git through at Muirhead’s. Debby, my wife’ll be glad to hev ye. I’ll send one o’ the boys arter ye. No, ye’d better not conclude to stay at Muirhead’s.” “Very well. I can settle my business there in short order, I have no doubt. Thank you, Mr. Hunter.” “I’m plain Dod--er--Uncle Dod ef ye like. I’m no mister.” “Very well, then I will call you Uncle Dod.” “I don’t say I hold to young gals travellin’ around through the country in a wild-goose fashion, but if ye go with me, I’ll guarantee I’ll return you safe.” “It isn’t a wild-goose fashion. It’s for father and mother and the children,” returned Agnes, earnestly. “You see--you know father forgets and gets so bewildered, he couldn’t do it, and I can. I think it will be all right. I don’t see why it shouldn’t.”