"Then I can ask him about the insides of cats," was Sarah's rather disconcerting response. CHAPTER V DAYS OF DELIGHT "You're the doctor's sisters," declared Mr. Hildreth when he was within earshot. Then, to Warren, "That row of onions isn't done." Mr. Hildreth, the girls were to learn speedily, made statements. He did not ask questions. And usually his declarations stood unchallenged. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a rather grim, weather-beaten face and shrewd blue eyes. A hard worker, his neighbors said, and accustomed to demanding, and receiving, the best from his helpers. He was intolerant of laziness--"shiftlessness" the country phrase ran--but he had the reputation of being a just taskmaster and he could be very kind. "I'm going back and finish the onions now," said Warren. "I came down to let the cows out." "Rich was late this morning," asserted Rich's employer, "because he wasted time at the creamery. We're going to fix the line fence." Rosemary looked at Richard Gilbert who carried a box of tools. He did not seem to mind the accusation brought against him--though, as a matter of fact, he had waited to get a piece of ice for Winnie and this had delayed him at the creamery--but then Richard was not easily offended. He was inclined to be easy going and was much less apt to "fire up" than Warren. "I'm going with Warren," announced Sarah, who liked her new friend very much and saw no reason for leaving him in doubt of her feelings. Mr. Hildreth stalked toward the brook, followed by Richard and Warren, and Sarah started up the lane. Rosemary, picking a buttercup for Shirley, was surprised to hear a sudden shout. "Mr. Hildreth!" yelled Sarah--there is no other word for it--"Mr. Hildreth! Can you make violin strings from a cat's insides?" The farmer, knee-deep in the brook, looked up, startled. Rosemary stared and Shirley looked interested. As for Richard and Warren, they laughed immoderately. "A girl in school said you could," went on Sarah, still shouting. "Violin strings, she said--can you?" "Sure--haven't you heard cats sing at night?" called back Mr. Hildreth, having recovered his breath. "Any cat that's a good singer, will make good violin strings. Miss--er--what's her name?" he questioned Richard who was holding up one end of the sagging wire. "That's Sarah," said Richard. "You ask Warren, Sarah," called the farmer. "He'll tell you." And as Warren walked on, Sarah, tagging after him, began an exhaustive and relentless study of cats and violin strings. Richard held the wire carefully, but his dancing brown eyes suggested that he was not too busy to talk. "There was an old man playing the violin last night," said Rosemary. "Did you hear him?" Richard nodded. "Old Fiddlestrings," he answered. "You'll probably hear him every moonlight night. Winter and summer he goes up and down the road playing his one tune."