Brooke, at first being humble-minded as to her ability, and therefore as to the prices to be charged, was gradually convinced by her hard-headed friend that if her wares were the equal of those which Tokay furnished the same patrons at their houses in town, why might she not charge the same at the wayside tea garden of the Moosatuk, where such things had hitherto not only been unattainable but unknown? To clinch her unanswerable argument, Lucy had made and sent to her friend a box of dainty cards, such as are often used at bazaars in private houses. A fox’s head appeared at the top—next below TEA, lemon or cream—MILK—FOXHEAD JULEP (the name with which they had christened Granny West’s delicious ginger, lemon, and mint concoction). Then followed the price-list of sandwiches—cheese—potted chicken—lettuce—jam, and plain bread and butter, singly or by the dozen, according to Tokay’s schedule. And Brooke accepted Lucy’s advice, but exacted a promise that she should tell no one, nor exploit the plan in any way, saying, “I want the venture to make its way from the inside out, not from the outside in.” Thus the matter was settled, and when mother and daughter had agreed that it was best to use the exquisite fern-leaf china cups and saucers for their added attraction over commoner china, and there seemed nothing more to do but to work along in the interim, a new difficulty suddenly smote Brooke. Though she and her mother might brew and bake, who was to serve the tea to those who, lacking footmen, wished it brought to carriage or served in the porch, which Brooke already called her Tea Garden, where she planned, if business warranted, to place some seats and small tables? One day, the very last of March, Deacon Fenton stopped at the West farm, and in answer to Mrs. Lawton’s urgent invitation to come in, replied: “Thank you kindly, but not to-day. I’m looking for that farmer daughter of yours. I’ve fetched up the new man, and given him an idee of the plantin’. He seems to sense it all right, though he’s kinder soft and unconditioned, and slow for spring ploughin’, and his hands blister up so’s I told him he’d better wear sheepskin mits fer a spell, as it’s some time he claims since he worked land for his mother. That don’t count, however, when it’s work on shares. You get your half jest the same if he’s a week doin’ a day’s work, and that’s the sense on it fer a girl like yourn, who can’t be expected to drive farm hands up to the bit, as must be did if you’re goin’ to git enough offen your land to feed a sparrer! Where’s the young lady? A-paintin’ pussy cats—no, I think it was wild rabbits likely, in the barn, Adam said, only I didn’t see her when I tied up. I thought maybe she’d like to go down to the ploughed field, and be made acquainted with her new help. She won’t need to bother much with him, not payin’ out wages, but it may come in handy for her to have speech with him, jest the same.