Really, Lyddy Bray thought much more about the Colesworths than her sister and father thought she did. After being urged by 'Phemie several times she finally allowed her sister to reply to the letter, promising to have a carriage at the station for the train mentioned in Harris Colesworth's letter. Of course, this meant hiring Lucas Pritchett and the buckboard. Lucas was at Hillcrest a good deal of the time that week. He got the garden plowed and the early potatoes planted, as well as some few other seeds which would not be hurt by the late frosts. Mr. Bray got around very slowly; at first he could only walk up and down in the sun, or sit on the porch, well wrapped up. Like most men born in the country and forced to be city dwellers for many years, John Bray had longed more deeply than he could easily express for country living. He appreciated the sights and sounds about him--the mellow, refreshing air that blew over the hills--the sunshine and the pattering rain which, on these early spring days, drifted alternately across the fields and woods. With the girls he planned for the future. Some day they would have a cow. There was pasture on the farm for a dozen. And already Lyddy was studying poultry catalogs and trying to figure out a little spare money to purchase some eggs for hatching. Of course they had no hens and at this time of the year the neighbors were likely to want their own setting hens for incubating purposes. Lyddy sounded Silas Trent, the mail-carrier, about this and Mr. Trent had an offer to make. "I tell ye what it is," said the garrulous Silas, "the chicken business is a good business--if ye kin 'tend to it right. I tried it--went in deep for incubator, brooders, and the like; and it would have been all right if I didn't hafter be away from home so much durin' the day. "My wife's got rheumatiz, and she can't git out to 'tend to little chicks, and for a few weeks they need a sight of attention--that's right. They'd oughter be fed every two hours, or so, and watched pretty close. "So I had ter give it up last year, an' this year I ain't put an egg in my incubator. "But if I could git 'em growed to scratchin' state--say, when they're broiler-size--I sartainly would like it. Tell ye what I'll do, Miss. I'll let ye have my incubator. It's 200-egg size. In course, ye don't hafter fill it first time if ye don't wanter. Put in a hundred eggs and see how ye come out." "But how could I pay you?" asked Lyddy. "I'll sell ye the incubator outright, if ye want to buy. And I'll take my pay in chickens when they're broiler-size--say three months old." "What do you want for your incubator?" queried Lyddy, thoughtfully. "Ten dollars. It's a good one. And I'll take a flock of twenty three-months-old chicks in pay for it--fifteen pullets and five cockerels. What kind of hens do you favor, Miss Bray?" Lyddy told him the breed she had thought of purchasing--and the strain.