Prue retreated with bad grace, but in a moment called pleasantly from her room: "Here comes Mr. Flinders, Mardy. He looks glummer than usual." "Go down, one of you girls; I'm really too tired to encounter him now," said Mrs. Grey, wearily. She had had many sore experiences of the farmer who carried on their garden on shares, and who was always ready to cut down their share to the minimum. Rob arose with a sigh. There was a tacit understanding that in any matter of business it should be she, and not Wythie, who came to the front. "Something has failed," she said, laconically, speaking from past experience and the pessimism of a humid, tiresome day. "Good day, Roberta," said Mr. Flinders, when Rob appeared at the door. "I'm afraid I've got to say what you won't want to hear." "Very likely, Mr. Flinders," said Rob, drearily. "I am so tired to-night there are few things I should want to hear." "Well, the pertaters is doing bad--your pertaters," said Mr. Flinders. "I thought mebbe you'd want to know in time to engage some." "Are they spoiled?" asked Roberta, aghast, for the failure of that particular crop meant serious misfortune for the winter. "Well, what with dry-rot and bugs, I guess you're not goin' to git many," said Mr. Flinders. "I thought mebbe you'd want to know," he ended, breaking down under the sternness of Roberta's dark eyes. "Did the bugs and dry-rot attack only our potatoes?" she demanded. "It's kinder diffused, so to say," admitted the farmer, "but I guess it's fair to subtract the loss from yours mostly, because I've got to be made good for my trouble." This was Farmer Flinders's invariable response, and Rob flashed fire. "Mr. Flinders," she said, "you can't share only profits--you've got to share losses, too. We're getting tired of it. We'll send for someone to look over the garden, and decide the question of the proportion of loss on the spoiled crop, and we will settle exactly on the basis of one-third loss for us and two-thirds for you, just as we share profits." "I wasn't aware, Roberta, you was runnin' the place. If you're managin', I'd like to be notified," said Farmer Flinders, rigid with offence. "I'm the business one of the family," said poor Rob, with sudden inspiration, "and it will be as I say. I represent the Greys. We shall not accept less than our third of the good vegetables, and that notification will be all you need, Mr. Flinders." She had never encountered the old fellow before, and she felt that he recognized and objected to the fact that here was youthful fire and determination to deal with, unlike her mother's gentleness or her father's easy methods. "I'll see your father later," said the farmer, turning away ill at ease. "Good-day, Roberta." "Good-day," said Rob, briefly, and retraced her steps heavily upstairs. She found Wythie lying across the foot of their bed, and threw herself on her face beside her. "What luck?" asked Oswyth, sleepily.