Once a wealthy friend of Mr. Holt asked to be taken down to see the place, and after going the rounds of the farm and making himself quite friendly roasting chestnuts around the great open fire in the “big house,” as the original cottage was called, returned to New York with many congratulations for Michael. A few days afterward he mailed to Michael the deed of the adjoining farm of one hundred acres, and Michael, radiant, wondering, began to know that his dreams for his poor downtrodden people were coming true. There would be room enough now for many a year to come for the people he needed to bring down. Of course this had not all been done without discouragements. Some of the most hopeful of the colonists had proved unmanageable, or unwilling to work; some had run away, or smuggled in some whiskey. There had been two or three incipient rows, and more than double that number of disappointing enterprises, but yet, the work was going on. And still, there came no word from Mr. Endicott. Michael was holding well with his employers, and they were beginning to talk to him of a partnership with them when he was done, for he had far outstripped French in his studies, and seemed to master everything he touched with an eagerness that showed great intellectual appetite. He still kept up his work in the little white room in the alley, evenings, though he divided his labors somewhat with Will French, Miss Semple and others who had heard of the work and had gradually offered their services. It had almost become a little settlement or mission in itself. The one room had become two and a bath; then the whole first floor with a small gymnasium. French was the enthusiastic leader in this, and Hester Semple had done many things for the little children and women. The next set of colonists for Michael’s farm were always being got ready and were spoken of as “eligibles” by the workers. Hester Semple had proved to be a most valuable assistant, ever ready with suggestions, tireless and as enthusiastic as Michael himself. Night after night the three toiled, and came home happily together. The association with the two was very sweet to Michael, whose heart was famished for friends and relations who “belonged,” But it never occurred to Michael to look on Miss Semple in any other light than friend and fellow worker. Will French and Michael were coming home from the office one afternoon together, and talking eagerly of the progress at the farm. “When you get married, Endicott,” said Will, “you must build a handsome bungalow or something for your summer home, down there on that knoll just overlooking the river where you can see the sea in the distance.” Michael grew sober at once. “I don’t expect ever to be married, Will,” he said after a pause, with one of his far-away looks, and his chin up, showing that what he had said was an indisputable fact. “The Dickens!” said Will stopping in his walk and holding up Michael. “She hasn’t refused you, has she?”