"Even an infant must realize how very sharey Mr. Flinders is in carrying on the place on shares, Prudence, my child," said Rob, gravely. "He may be honest in giving us our third of the vegetables for the use of the land, but I always suspect him of opening the lettuce-heads and rolling them up again to make sure ours haven't more leaves than his." "Oh, you know Mr. Flinders won't do one thing extra, Prue," said Oswyth, hastily, fearing Prue might resent being called an infant. "He could have the grass for his horse," said Prue. "'A merciful man regardeth the life of his beast,' Prudy," said Rob. "Our grass is half daisy-stalks, half chicory, half dandelions, half some other things--pigweed, probably--and the other half _may_ be grass." Both her sisters laughed. "You always were strong in fractions, Rob," said Oswyth. "Had to practise the most fractional fractions ever since I was born--why shouldn't I be? There come those new Rutherford boys down the street," said Rob, as three tall figures, arms locked, marching abreast at a good pace, swung into sight at the head of the street. "They seemed nice when we met them the other day; I wish they'd say they'd cut our grass." "I thought you scorned to admit boys' superiority in anything, Rob," said Wythie, slyly. "I don't admit it; I only act on it--if I have to," said Rob. "Why don't you wish we could afford to hire a man to keep the place decent, like other people, while you're wishing?" asked Prue, rather bitterly. "Because I don't see the use of wishing for what you can never have," said Rob, quickly. "We can't be rich--not till Patergrey gets the bricquette machine done--and since it's impossible, why, it's impossible. But it would be perfectly possible for those big creatures to swing scythes and get this grass mown in short order--it would be rather a lark for them. And if it ever does get cut, and I don't keep it short with Aunt Azraella's mower, then it will be because I've forgotten the art of wheedling that beloved lady into lending it." "How did you get it this time?" asked Oswyth. "Talked Mayflower and Pilgrim Rock--it never fails," said Rob. "She thinks now there was a Brewster in her family, and that probably through him she goes back to glory. And you know what Mardy let slip one day about the parental Brown and his remarkably good cobbling! Poor Aunt Azraella! It must be painful to miss the dead in the way she does! Miss having had ancestors to die. Though I don't know why good honest cobbling isn't as good as lots of things they did in colonial days--better than the spelling, for instance. Mercy, those boys are almost here! Is my hair too crazy, and have I grass stains on my nose, Wythie?"