Mrs. Atterson started into the dining-room with her own supper between two plates when she saw the old man sitting there despondent in looks and attitude, his head resting on one clawlike hand, his elbow on the soiled table cloth. He did not look up, nor move. The mistress glanced back over her shoulder, and there was Sister, sniffling and occasionally rubbing her wrist into her red eyes as she scraped the tower of plates from the dinner table. “My soul and body!” gasped Mother Atterson, almost dropping her supper on the floor. “There's Sister--and there's Old Lem Camp! Whatever will I do with 'em?” Meanwhile Hiram Strong had already left for the farm on the Wednesday previous. The other boarders knew nothing about his agreement with Mother Atterson; he had agreed to go to the place and begin work, and take care of the stock and all, “choring for himself”, as the good lady called it, until she could complete her city affairs and move herself and her personal chattels to the farm. Hiram bore a note to the woman who had promised to care for the Atterson place, and money to pay her what the boarding-house mistress had agreed. “You can 'bach' it in the house as well as poor old Uncle Jeptha did, I reckon,” this woman told the youth. She showed him where certain provisions were--the pork barrel, ham and bacon of the old man's curing, and the few vegetables remaining from the winter's store. “The cow was about gone dry, anyway,” said the woman, Mrs. Larriper, who was a widow and lived with her married daughter some half-mile down the road toward Scoville, “so I didn't bother to milk her. “You'll have to go to town to buy grain, if you want to feed her up--and for the chickens and the horse. The old man didn't make much of a crop last year--or them shiftless Dickersons didn't make much for him. “I saw Sam Dickerson around here this morning. He borrowed some of the old man's tools when Uncle Jeptha was sick, and you'll have to go after 'em, I reckon. “Sam's the best borrower that ever was; but he never can remember to bring things back. He says it's bad enough to have to borrow; it's too much to expect the same man to return what he borrows. “Now, Mrs. Dickerson,” pursued Mrs. Larriper, “was as nice a girl before she married--she was a Stepney--as ever walked in shoe-leather. And I guess she'd be right friendly with the neighbors if Sam would let her. “But the poor thing never gits to go out--no, sir! She's jest tied to the house. They lost a child once--four year ago. That's the only time I remember of seeing Sarah Stepney in church since the day she was married--and she's got a boy--Pete--as old as you be. “Now, on the other side o' ye there's Darrell's tract, and you won't have no trouble there, for there ain't a house on his place, and he lets it lie idle. Waiting for a rise in price, I 'spect.