“Do you mean to say you can run a farm, Hi Strong?” she asked. “I do,” and he smiled confidently at her. “And make it pay?” “Perhaps not much profit the first season; but if the farm is fertile, and the marketing conditions are right, I know I can make it pay us both in two years.” “I've got a little money saved up. I could sell the house in a week, for it's always full and there are always lone women like me with a little driblet of money to exchange for a boarding house--heaven help us for the fools we are!” Mrs. Atterson exclaimed. “And I expect you could raise vegetables enough to part keep us, Hi, even if the farm wasn't a great success?” “And eggs, and chickens, and the pigs, and milk from the cow,” suggested Hiram. “Well! I declare, that's so,” admitted Mrs. Atterson. “I'd been lookin' on all them things as an expense. They could be made an asset, eh?” “I should hope so,” responded Hiram, smiling. “And I could get rid of these boarders--My soul and body!” gasped the tired woman, suddenly. “Do you suppose it's true, Hi? Get rid of worryin' about paying the bills, and whether the boarders are all going to keep their jobs and be able to pay regularly--And the gravy! “Hiram Strong! If you can show me a way out of this valley of tribulation I'll be the thankfullest woman that you ever seen. It's a bargain. Don't you pay me a cent for this coming week. And I shouldn't have taken it, anyway, when you're throwed out of work so. That's a mighty mean man, that Daniel Dwight. “You go right ahead and look that farm over. If it looks good, you come back and we'll strike a bargain, I know. And--and--Just to think of getting rid of this house and these boarders!” and Mrs. Atterson finished by wiping her eyes again vigorously. CHAPTER VII. HOW HIRAM LEFT TOWN Hiram Strong was up betimes on Monday morning--Sister saw to that. She rapped on his door at four-thirty. Sometimes Hiram wondered when the girl ever slept. She was still dragging about the kitchen or dining-room when he went to bed, and she was first down in the morning--even earlier than Mrs. Atterson herself. The boarding house mistress was not intentionally severe with Sister; but the much harassed lady had never learned to make her own work easy, so how should she be expected to be easy on Sister? Once or twice Hiram had talked with the orphan. Sister had a dreadful fear of returning to the “institution” from which Mrs. Atterson had taken her. And Sister's other fearful remembrance was of an old woman who beat her and drank much gin and water. Not that she had been ill-treated at the institution; but she had been dressed in an ugly uniform, and the girls had been rough and pulled her “pigtails” like Dan, Junior. “Once a gentleman came to see me,” Sister confided to Hiram. “He was a lawyer gentleman, the matron told me. He knew my name--but I've forgotten it now.