"My dear grandmother, a man who works as hard as I’m working on my farm, makes a living and nothing more. I sat in my office and doubled my capital without turning a hand, but that’s the pace that kills. Halloa, Glen," as a young, good-looking fellow in knickerbockers opened the gate. "Leave your wheel right there." "Good morning, Mrs. Stillwater." "Good morning, Glen; how’s your mother?" "Well, thanks. Sends her love, and father’s quite his old self." "Who cured him?" said Stillwater. "He was getting to be a regular hypochondriac. We compared our symptoms; they were about alike. I constitute myself my own doctor. I buy a farm, and a pretty thing it is, too. I’ll be wabashed, if he don’t go and do the same." "Ah, but father happened to have his farm, Mr. Stillwater," said the young fellow, laughing. "It’s been neglected for years. It’s not a model farm like this, but we’re getting it into shape." He looked around, as though he missed something or someone. "Say, Glen, what do you think of this?" Stillwater proudly exhibited his potato. Glen examined it with professional interest. "You couldn’t do any better than that, could you?" "We don’t try. You know what father says, ’Farmin’ ain’t no fad with my neighbor, Stillwater.’—I’ll just fetch a drink from the well." He went off with a long, swinging stride, and, returning in a moment with a tin cup in his hand, seated himself at Mrs. Stillwater’s feet, on the step of the farm-house porch. "Fine tasting water, eh?" said Stillwater watching him. "Cold as ice; it’s a fine thing to have a spring like that, right on your ground." Glen nodded, drinking slowly, and fingering the dainty, pink and white, flowered material on which Mrs. Stillwater was working. He finally rose, restored the tin cup to the well, sauntered back and into the kitchen, and out again, with a disappointed expression. "What’s the matter, Glen? Lost anything?" inquired Mr. Stillwater, winking at the others. Glen smiled. "Where’s Indiana?" "Oh, Indiana. She went off on Circus nearly three hours ago." "Why didn’t she stop for me?" "I suppose she thought one’s company, two’s a crowd," answered Stillwater. "You never know when Circus is going to cut up his games," remarked Glen, gloomily. "Tell me about Circus now," said Mr. Stillwater scornfully, "don’t I know Circus by this time?" "Do you think anything could have happened?" asked Mrs. Stillwater in alarm. "I’ve yet to see the horse that Indiana couldn’t manage. I never saw two people understand each other better than she and Circus. He fretted and fumed when she jumped on his back this morning, then he did his great act. Stood right up on his hind legs, and looked around for applause. But she sat him like a rock. The two of them made the prettiest picture you ever saw. Well, she got him so, that he trotted off with her like Mary’s little lamb. Indiana has a way with a horse."