"Them's fine birds," declared Mr. Trent. "For heavy fowl they are good layers--and when ye butcher one of 'em for the table, ye got suthin' to eat. Now, you think my offer over. I'll stick to it. And I'll set the incubator up and show ye how to run it." Lyddy was very anxious to venture into the chicken business--and here was a chance to do it cheaply. It was the five dollars for a hundred hatching eggs that made her hesitate. But Aunt Jane had shown herself to be more than a little interested in the girls' venture at Hillcrest Farm, and when she expressed the keys of the garret chests and bureaus to Lyddy--so that the girl could get at the stores of linen left from the old doctor's day--she sent, too, twenty-five dollars. "Keep it against emergencies. Pay it back when you can. And don't let's have no talk about it," was the old lady's characteristic note. Lyddy was only doubtful as to whether this desire of hers to raise chickens was really "an emergency." But finally she decided to venture, and she wrote off for the eggs, sending the money by a post-office order, and Lucas brought up Silas Trent's incubator. Friday night Trent drove up to Hillcrest and spent the evening with the Brays. He set the incubator up in the little washhouse, which opened directly off the back porch. It was a small, tight room, with only one window, and was easily heated by an oil-lamp. The lamp of the incubator itself would do the trick, Trent said. He leveled the machine with great care, showed Lyddy all about the trays, the water, the regulation of heat, and gave her a lot of advice on various matters connected with the raising of chicks with the "wooden hen." They were all vastly interested in the new vocation and the evening passed pleasantly enough. Just before Trent went, he asked: "By the way, what's Jud Spink doing up this way so much? I seen him again to-day when I came over the ridge. He was crossin' the back of your farm. He didn't have no gun; and, at any rate, there ain't nothin' in season jest now--'nless it's crows," and the mail-carrier laughed. "Spink?" asked Mr. Bray, who had not yet gone to bed. "Who is he?" "Lemuel Judson Spink," explained 'Phemie. "He's a man who used to live here with grandfather when he was a boy--when _Spink_ was a boy; not grandfather." "He's a rich man now," said Lyddy. "He owns a breakfast food." "Diamond Grits," added 'Phemie. "He's rich enough," grunted Trent. "Rich enough so't he can loaf around Bridleburg for months at a time. Been here now for some time." "Why, could that be the Spink your Aunt Jane told me once made her an offer for the farm?" asked Mr. Bray, thoughtfully. "For Hillcrest?" cried 'Phemie. "Oh, I hope not." "Well, child, if she could sell the place it would be a good thing for Jane. She has none too much money." "But why didn't she sell to him?" asked Lyddy, quite as anxious as her sister. "He didn't offer her much, if anything, for it."