the query with such challenging meaningful emphasis that, alas!--I cannot say. II PETER WAYDEAN IS FOUND WANTING "No," said the postmistress, shaking her head dubiously, "I don't think you'd find a place to suit within a mile of this station. You say you want a small farm with a middling good house, and the only vacant place about here has a hundred acres and the house ain't no better than a shanty." It was the prettiest bit of country that we had yet found in our search for our ideal farm, and the answer of the postmistress caused us keen disappointment. Paul's little hand, which had clutched mine with a tense expectant grip, suddenly relaxed. "Are we not going to live in the country?" he asked, in a trembling voice. "Oh, I forgot the Waydean homestead," the postmistress called out, as we turned away; "but anyway I don't suppose"--she looked at us in turn with a speculative air, smiling slightly--"you could strike a bargain with old Peter." "Why not?" demanded Marion eagerly. "Is it a nice place--is it near the railroad?" "It's right next the turn of this road, about half a mile south. No one has lived there for twenty years, but he keeps the house in repair, and I guess it's cleaner than most houses that's lived in; but old Peter----" she stopped speaking, went to the door and looked apprehensively up and down the road. "Now I'll just tell you the plain truth," she continued confidentially. "I know it looks uncharitable to talk to strangers about your neighbors, but everyone round here knows what old Peter is, and if you're going to have any dealings with him you'll need to keep your eyes wide open. He's a crank and a screw, and some wouldn't know they was getting skinned till he'd got the job done. And such a man for law! It don't seem to matter much whether he wins or loses, he can't seem to get along without a suit going on. Now if he happened within earshot at this present minute he'd have the law of me and he'd summons you for witnesses." "Thank you for the warning," I interjected, as she paused for breath. "What is the house like?" "It's one of them old-fashioned kind, with tiny panes in the windows set cornery, and----" "Not _diamond_ panes, surely?" cried Marion, with a gasp of excitement. The postmistress gazed at her with an expression of incredulous pity. "Oh, no," she replied; "just common glass, and I think you'd find it trying to have to look out of a different pane with both eyes. Then them big fireplaces would make it hard to heat, but you could board them up and put a base-burner in the hall and run the stovepipe----" "Oh, no!" ejaculated Marion, in horror. "That would be dreadful! Are they real big fireplaces, with andirons?" "They're big enough in all conscience, but I don't mind seeing any hand-irons. There's some rubbishy old brass firedogs and fixings." Marion's eyes sparkled with joyful assurance and she stood up with an eager movement; I motioned her to wait.