"Luce, do you see those pesky varmints? They'll jest clean out this valley in about ten days, 'n' you 'n' me may's well pack our trunks. There won't be victuals for any extra mouths here this year, I tell you; I shouldn't wonder if it jest about broke Mr. March up. He hain't got any ready money to fall back on. He paid down about all he had for this place, 'n' he's spent a sight this last year. Blamed if I don't wish I hadn't asked him for a thing. He's the generousest man ever was. It's a shame he should have such luck. I don't count on next summer nuther, for the ground'll be chuck full of the nasty beasts' eggs: ten to one they'll be worse next year than they are this: there's no knowin'. We might's well get married, Luce, an' if there's any thing doing in the valley at all, I can allers get it to do." So, early in the autumn Billy and Lucinda were married, and went to live in "Cobbs's Cabin," a little log cabin about two miles from Mr. March's place, on the road to Rosita. The winter was a long and a hard one: hay was scarce and dear; and all sorts of provisions were sold at higher prices than ever before. The March family, however, were well and in good spirits. Nelly and Rob enjoyed working with their father and mother,--Rob in the barn and out in the fields, and Nelly in the house. They still studied an hour every day, and recited to their father in the evening. Rob studied Latin, and Nelly studied arithmetic; and their mother read to them every night a few pages of history, or some good book of travels. Rob did not love to study, and did only what he must; but Nelly grew more and more fond of books every day. She did not care for her dolls any longer. Even the great wax doll which Mrs. Williams had given her was now very seldom taken out of the box. All Nelly wanted to make her happy was a book: it seemed sometimes as if it did not make much difference to her what sort of a book. She read every thing she could find in the house; even volumes of sermons she did not despise; and it was an odd thing to see a little girl twelve years old reading a big, old leather bound volume of sermons. Rob used to laugh at her and say:-- "Oh, pshaw, Nell! what makes you read that? Read Mayne Reid's stories: they're worth while. What do you want to read sermons for, I'd like to know?" And Nelly would laugh too, and say:-- "Well, Rob, they aren't so nice as stories; but I do like to read them. It's like hearing papa preach." To which Rob would reply, in a cautious whisper:-- "Well, I'm glad we don't have to hear papa preach any more. I hate sermons. I'm never going to church again's long's I live; and, when I'm a man, I sha'n't make my boys go to church if they don't want to."