"No, no," cried Sarah Ellen. "I'm coming to that as fast as I can. You see, 'twas father who went to work first. He's been doing all sorts of little odd jobs, even to staying with the Snow children while their folks went to town, and spading up Nancy Howe's flower beds for her. But it's been wearing on him, and he was getting all tired out. Only think of it, William--_working out--father and mother_! I just can't ever hold up my head again! What _shall_ we do?" "Do? Why, we'll stop it, of course," declared William savagely. "I guess I can support my own father and mother without their working for a living!" "But it's money, William, that they want. Don't you see?" "Well, we'll give them money, then. I always have, anyway,--when they asked for it," finished William in an aggrieved voice. Sarah Ellen shook her head. "It won't do," she sighed. "It might have done once--but not now. They've got to the point where they just can't accept money doled out to them like that. Why, just think, 't was all theirs once!" "Well, 'tis now--in a way." "I know--but we haven't acted as if it were. I can see that now, when it's too late." "We'll give it back, then," cried William, his face clearing; "the whole blamed farm!" Sarah Ellen frowned. She shook her head slowly, then paused, a dawning question in her eyes. "You don't suppose--William, could we?" she cried with sudden eagerness. "Well, we can try mighty hard," retorted the man grimly. "But we've got to go easy, Sarah Ellen,--no bungling. We've got to spin some sort of a yarn that won't break, nor have any weak places; and of course, as far as the real work of the farm is concerned, we'll still do the most of it. But the place'll be theirs. See?--theirs! _Working out_--good Heavens!" It must have been a week later that Jeremiah burst into his wife's room. Hester sat by the window, bending over numberless scraps of blue, red, and pink calico. "Put it up, put it up, Hester," he panted joyously. "Ye hain't got to sew no more, an' I hain't neither. The farm is ours!" "Why, Jeremiah, what--how--" "I don't know, Hester, no more than you do," laughed Jeremiah happily; "only William says he's tired of runnin' things all alone, an' he wants me to take hold again. They're goin' ter make out the papers right away; an' say, Hester,"--the bent shoulders drew themselves erect with an air of pride,--"I thought mebbe this afternoon we'd drive over ter Huntersville an' get some shoes for you. Ye know you're always needin' shoes!" The Long Road "Jane!" "Yes, father." "Is the house locked up?" "Yes." "Are ye sure, now?" "Why, yes, dear; I just did it." "Well, won't ye see?" "But I have seen, father." Jane did not often make so many words about this little matter, but she was particularly tired to-night. The old man fell back wearily. "Seems ter me, Jane, ye might jest see," he fretted. "'T ain't much I'm askin' of ye, an' ye know them spoons--"