Cyrus Pritchett had bullied his family so long that to be bearded in his own house certainly amazed him. He glared at the girl for fully a minute, without being able to formulate any reply. Then he burst out with: "You let me ketch any other man on this ridge puttin' a plow inter the old doctor's land! I've tilled it for years, I tell ye----" "And you can till it again, Mr. Pritchett," said Lyddy, softly. "You needn't holler so about it--we all hear you." The coolness of the girl silenced him. "So, now it's understood," she went on, smiling at him brightly. "And we'll try this year to make a little better crop. We really must get something more out of it than the taxes." "Jane Hammon' won't buy no fertilizer," growled Mr. Pritchett, put on the defensive--though he couldn't tell why. "An' ye can't grow corn on run-down land without potash an' kainit, and the like." "Well, you shall tell us all about that later," declared Lyddy, "and we'll see. I understand that you can't get blood from a turnip. We want to put Hillcrest in better shape--both in and out of the house--and then there'll be a better chance to sell it." Cyrus Pritchett's eyes suddenly twinkled with a shrewd light. "Does Jane Hammon' really want to sell the farm?" he queried. "If she gets a good offer," replied Lyddy. "That's what we hope to do while we're at Hillcrest--make the place more valuable and more attractive to the possible buyer." "Ha!" grunted Cyrus, sneeringly. "She'll get a fancy price for Hillcrest--not!" But that ended the discussion. "Maw" Pritchett looked on in wonder. She had seen her husband beaten in an argument by a "chit of a girl"--and really, Cyrus did not seem to be very ugly, or put out about it, either! He told Lucas to put the ponies to the wagon again, and to take the Bray girls and their belongings up to Hillcrest; and to see that they were comfortable for the night before he came back. This encouraged Mrs. Pritchett, when Lyddy took out her purse to pay for their entertainment, to declare: "For the good land, no! We ain't goin' to charge ye for a meal of vittles--and you gals Dr. Polly Phelps's own grandchildren! B'sides, we want ye to be neighborly. It's nice for Sairy to have young companions, too. I tell her she'll git to be a reg'lar old maid if she don't 'sociate more with gals of her own age." Sairy bridled and blushed at this. But she wasn't an unkind girl, and she helped 'Phemie gather their possessions--especially the latter's wet clothing. "I'm sure I wish ye joy up there at the old house," said Sairy, with a shudder. "But ye wouldn't ketch me." "Catch you doing what?" asked 'Phemie, wonderingly. "Stayin' in Dr. Phelps's old house over night," explained Sairy. "Why not?" The farmer's daughter drew close to 'Phemie's ear and whispered: "It's ha'nted!" "_What?_" cried 'Phemie. "Ghosts," exclaimed Sairy, in a thrilling voice. "All old houses is ha'nted. And that's been give up to ghosts for years an' years."