He was thinking of her vaguely as he walked toward the house which had been his father’s, and where he and Fanny had been born. It was little and low and old, as he viewed it indifferently in the fading light of the sunset sky. Its walls had needed painting so long, that for years nobody had even mentioned the subject. Its picturesquely mossy roof leaked. But a leaky roof was a commonplace in Brookville. It was customary to set rusty tin pans, their holes stopped with rags, under such spots as actually let in water; the emptying of the pans being a regular household “chore.” Somehow, he found himself disliking to enter; his mother and Fanny would still be talking about the disposition of Lydia Orr’s money. To his relief he found his sister alone in the kitchen, which served as a general living room. The small square table neatly spread for two stood against the wall; Fanny was standing by the window, her face close to the pane, and apparently intent upon the prospect without, which comprised a grassy stretch of yard flanked by a dull rampart of over-grown lilac bushes. “Where’s mother?” inquired Jim, as he hung his hat on the accustomed nail. “She went down to the village,” said Fanny, turning her back on the window with suspicious haste. “There was a meeting of the sewing society at Mrs. Daggett’s.” “Good Lord!” exclaimed Jim. “What an opportunity!” “Opportunity?” echoed Fanny vaguely. “Yes; for talking it over. Can’t you imagine the clack of tongues; the ‘I says to _her_,’ and ‘she told _me_,’ and ‘what _do_ you think!’” “Don’t be sarcastic and disagreeable, Jim,” advised Fanny, with some heat. “When you think of it, it _is_ a wonder—that girl coming here the way she did; buying out the fair, just as everybody was discouraged over it. And now—” “How do you explain it, Fan?” asked her brother. “Explain it? I can’t explain it. Nobody seems to know anything about her, except that she’s from Boston and seems to have heaps of money.” Jim was wiping his hands on the roller-towel behind the door. “I had a chance to annex a little more of Miss Orr’s money today,” he observed grimly. “But I haven’t made up my mind yet whether to do it, or not.” Fanny laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “If you don’t, somebody else will,” she replied. “It was Deacon Whittle, wasn’t it? He stopped at the house this afternoon and wanted to know where to find you.” “They’re going right to work on the old place, and there’s plenty to do for everybody, including yours truly, at four dollars a day.” “What sort of work?” inquired Fanny. “All sorts: pulling down and building up; clearing away and replanting. The place is a jungle, you know. But four dollars a day! It’s like taking candy from a baby.” “It sounds like a great deal,” said the girl. “But why shouldn’t you do it?” Jim laughed. “Why, indeed? I might earn enough to put a shingle or two on our own roof. It looks like honest money; but—”