"Let me get you some water, grandma," he said a moment later, seeing her pick up the tin water-pail; "I'll start right in now and get my hand in," he laughed. "You always were a hustler, Bob, even if you don't grow very fast," she said, looking at his over-large clothes, as he left the kitchen. "I hope your Uncle Joe will remember that you're not grown and can't do a man's work, even if you're willing to try," she said on his return, as she watched him set the pail of water on the kitchen table. "Why, I'm eighteen now, grandma, and weigh one hundred and ten pounds," he answered stoutly. "Well, this is a big farm, Bob, and it's gotten pretty well run down in the last few years with your Uncle Joe out West and your grandfather feeling too poorly to do much more than look after the crops," she said. "Are there big fortunes to be found in the West, grandma?" he asked a moment later. "No bigger than right here, Bob," she replied. "It's only a matter of work, and I'm beginning to believe that after all it is as much a matter of managing properly as working hard. Do you know that your grandfather and I are going to move to town as soon as your Uncle Joe gets married?" "Why, no, I didn't--who'll look after things here when you go away?" asked Bob. "Oh, your new aunt will see to that," she replied. "I hope you'll like her, Bob." "Who is she and what does she look like?" he inquired with boyish eagerness. "She used to be a school teacher and lived with us while she taught our school," she replied; "that's how your Uncle Joe met her. She has plenty of good looks--too many, I sometimes think, for a farmer's wife--and she is a real New England Yankee woman, who doesn't know how to milk cows." "How could any one be too good-looking to be a farmer's wife, grandma?" laughed Bob. "Why should good looks keep her from being successful?" "Well, you see, Bob, nice white hands are generally spoiled by rough work," said the old lady. "But why will she have to do the rough work when she comes here?" persisted Bob. "Oh, I guess she won't have any to do--at least, that's what your Uncle Joe says," replied his grandmother with a haughty toss of her head. "That's what he's got you down on the farm for." "Oh," said Bob, dryly, "and so that's why he was so extremely anxious for me to come." "Yes, that's why, Bob--you might as well know sooner as later, that you're going to be a pretty busy boy this summer. Your Uncle Joe is so big and strong that he never gets tired and doesn't know when to quit, and he expects every one else to work just as hard and as long as he does. Besides," she added, "I don't think he'll want HIS wife to spoil her nice white hands." "What's her name?" inquired Bob, not in the least worried by his grandmother's gloomy predictions. "Betsy Atwood--but your uncle calls her Bettie," replied his grandmother. "Aunt Bettie," repeated Bob. "A pretty name!"