Mother told in detail and with rising excitement the story of the drunken nurse girl who had burned up herself and her charges, a pair of lovely twins. From that moment our families were anxious for us to go. The three women could see the girl drunk and the house burning. The two grandfathers, while less imaginative, were almost as uneasy. Besides, no doubt our families found us full as tiring as we found them. “But before we go,” said Edna, in a business-like tone, “there’s one thing we wanted to talk about. Godfrey has had--that is, he has done very well in business. And of course our first thought--one of our first thoughts--was what could we do for you all down here. We hate to think of your living in this unhealthful part of the town. We want to see you settled in some healthful place, up in the hills.” We were watching the faces of our five kinsfolk. We could make nothing of their expression. It was heavy, dull--mere listening, without a hint of even comprehension behind. “We thought you, father, and Mr.--father Loring--might look round and find a nice farm with a big comfortable house--plenty big enough for you all--and Godfrey will buy it, and will pay for a man and a woman to look after you. He has done well, as I said, and he can afford it. In fact, they’ve made him president of the railroad.” My father, my mother, and my sister exchanged glances. A long, awed silence. Old Willie spoke in his squeaky, stingy voice: “I can’t leave my business. I ain’t footless like Loring there. _My_ business pays.” “You can sell it,” said Edna. “You know you ought to retire. You were telling me how bad your health had been.” “Nobody else couldn’t make nothing like what I make out of it. The men growing up nowadays ain’t no account. The no-account women with heads full of foolishness leads ’em off.” Edna agreed with him, pointed out that he’d have to give up soon anyhow, appealed to his cupidity for real estate by expanding upon the size and value of the farm I was willing to give him. She made a strong impression. The women were converted by the prospect of having help with the work. My father had long dreamed of a home in the country. He had not the imagination to picture how he would be bored, away from the loafers with whom he talked politics and religion. “And,” said Edna, “you’ll have horses and things to ride in, so you can go where you please whenever you please.” We had roused them. We had dazzled them. It was plain that if a purchaser could be found for the Wheatlands undertaking business, Edna would carry her point. “Godfrey will look for somebody to take the business,” said she to her father. “I want you and Father Loring to start out to-morrow morning, and not stop till you’ve found a farm.”