“But it’s a good substantial building,” Lydia went on, her eyes resting on Mrs. Daggett’s broad, rosy face, which still wore that unwonted look of pain and sadness. “It seems a pity not to change the—the associations. The library and reading room could be on the first floor; and on the second, perhaps, a town hall, where—” “For the land sake!” ejaculated Lois Daggett; “you cer’nly have got an imagination, Miss Orr. I haven’t heard that town hall idea spoken of since Andrew Bolton’s time. He was always talking about town improvements; wanted a town hall and courses of lectures, and a fountain playing in a park and a fire-engine, and the land knows what. He was a great hand to talk, Andrew Bolton was. And you see how he turned out!” “And mebbe he’d have done all those nice things for Brookville, Lois, if his speculations had turned out different,” said Mrs. Daggett, charitably. “I always thought Andrew Bolton _meant_ all right. Of course he had to invest our savings; banks always do, Henry says.” “I don’t know anything about _investing_, and don’t want to, either—not the kind he did, anyhow,” retorted Lois Daggett. She arose as she spoke, brushing the crumbs of sponge cake from her skirt. “I got to get that order right in,” she said: “five copies—or was it six, you said?” “I think I could use six,” murmured Lydia. “And all leather-bound! Well, now, I know you won’t ever be sorry. It’s one of those works any intelligent person would be proud to own.” “I’m sure it is,” said the girl gently. She turned to Mrs. Daggett. “Can’t you stay awhile longer? I—I should like—” “Oh, I guess Abby’d better come right along with me,” put in Lois briskly ... “and that reminds me, do you want to pay something down on that order? As a general thing, where I take a big order—” “Of course—I’d forgotten; I always prefer to pay in advance.” The girl opened the tall desk and producing a roll of bills told off the price of her order into Miss Daggett’s hand. “I should think you’d be almost afraid to keep so much ready money by you, with all those men workin’ outside,” she commented. “They’re all Brookville men,” said Lydia. “I have to have money to pay them with. Besides, I have Martha.” “You mean your hired girl, I suppose,” inferred Miss Daggett, rubbing her nose thoughtfully. “She isn’t exactly—a servant,” hesitated Lydia. “We give the men their noon meal,” she added. “Martha helps me with that.” “You give them their dinner! Well, I never! Did you hear that, Abby? She gives them their dinner. Didn’t you know men-folks generally bring their noonings in a pail? Land! I don’t know how you get hearty victuals enough for all those men. Where do they eat?” “In the new barn,” said Lydia, smiling. “We have a cook stove out there.” “Ain’t that just lovely!” beamed Mrs. Daggett, squeezing the girl’s slim hand in both her own. “Most folks wouldn’t go to the trouble of doing anything so nice. No wonder they’re hustling.”