"Ha! There isn't a store within ten miles, but 'most everything grows right on the farm. A butcher calls twice a week, and eggs, butter, milk, and chickens are provided by Bill," explained Zan. "Bill! Who's Bill?" asked some of the girls eagerly. "Why, Bill's the farmer, of course. He lives in the farmer's cottage and looks after the place all winter, besides taking care of the gardens, cow and chickens all the year round. He works the place on shares in preference to a salary, and likes it first-rate, he says," replied Zan. "Oh, we didn't know there was a resident farmer. When you mentioned tennis and croquet, to say nothing of the golf-links, you failed to give us a hint of farmer or wife," said Miss Miller. "Well, I had my mind full of sports, you see, and I never class Bill as a sport!" laughed Zan, the others joining her. "What's he like?" queried Jane, while Nita added, "Has he any sons?" "Nita thinks, 'better a farmer than no son at all!'" teased Hilda, for Nita's preference for boys was no secret with the girls. "Bill hasn't any family, but he will act as her escort if she needs a drive about the country for her health!" laughed Zan. "Bill is slow and staid, as well as lank and lean. He is forever twirling a wisp of grass between his teeth while he is interviewing you. He swears by his wife's judgment and his deepest concern is her 'rheumatics.' Mrs. Sherwood complains of 'stiff jints' during winter and claims that this keeps her from exercising enough to keep down extra flesh. Consequently, she is as big and round as a balloon, and wheezes and gasps when she talks. But they're all right, where good-nature and generosity is concerned, and will do anything for us." "I'm sure I wouldn't be seen going out with _such_ a freak!" cried Nita, disdainfully. "I don't believe Bill would take you, to tell the truth, Nita. He is old-fashioned and doesn't favour French heels and low-necked dresses. He is most orthodox and thinks such frills a sin and a breach of the commandments!" laughed Zan. "How will we reach the farm, Zan, if it is so far from the station and no way to get there?" asked Elena, dubiously. "Oh, Bill will get us there, even if he carries us in the old spring wagon, which is preferable to the vehicle he used the first time we ever visited the farm," exclaimed Zan, following her words with a contagious laugh, rocking back and forth until the girls demanded to know what caused her mirth. "Oh, girls! If you could have stood on that platform as the boys and I did, waiting for the 'carriage' that we expected to take us to the farm! Never will I forget it as long as I live!" Again Zan had to laugh so heartily that she was urged to share her humour with her friends.