“Why has she taken a dislike to him?” asked Ethelbertha. “Oh, because he mistook the back of the house for the front, or the front of the house for the back,” I explained; “I forget which now. Says it’s his smile that irritates her. She owns herself there’s no real reason.” “When will you be going down again?” Ethelbertha asked. “On Thursday next,” I told her; “stove or no stove.” She said she would come with me. She felt the change would do her good, and promised not to do anything when she got there. And then I told her all that I had done for Dick. “The ordinary farmer,” I pointed out to her, “is so often a haphazard type of man with no ideas. If successful, it is by reason of a natural instinct which cannot be taught. St. Leonard has studied the theory of the thing. From him Dick will learn all that can be learnt about farming. The selection, I felt, demanded careful judgment.” “But will Dick stick to it?” Ethelbertha wondered. “There, again,” I pointed out to her, “the choice was one calling for exceptional foresight. The old man—as a matter of fact, he isn’t old at all; can’t be very much older than myself; I don’t know why they all call him the old man—has formed a high opinion of Dick. His daughter told me so, and I have taken care to let Dick know it. The boy will not care to disappoint him. Her mother—” “Whose mother?” interrupted Ethelbertha. “Janie’s mother, Mrs. St. Leonard,” I explained. “She also has formed a good opinion of him. The children like him. Janie told me so.” “She seems to do a goodish deal of talking, this Miss Janie,” remarked Ethelbertha. “You will like her,” I said. “She is a charming girl—so sensible, and good, and unselfish, and—” “Who told you all this about her?” interrupted Ethelbertha. “You can see it for yourself,” I answered. “The mother appears to be a nonentity, and St. Leonard himself—well, he is not a business man. It is Janie who manages everything—keeps everything going.” “What is she like?” asked Ethelbertha. “I am telling you,” I said. “She is so practical, and yet at the same time—” “In appearance, I mean,” explained Ethelbertha. “How you women,” I said, “do worry about mere looks! What does it matter? If you want to know, it is that sort of face that grows upon you. At first you do not notice how beautiful it is, but when you come to look into it—” “And has she also formed a high opinion of Dick?” interrupted Ethelbertha. “She will be disappointed in him,” I said, “if he does not work hard and stick to it. They will all be disappointed in him.” “What’s it got to do with them?” demanded Ethelbertha. “I’m not thinking about them,” I said. “What I look at is—” “I don’t like her,” said Ethelbertha. “I don’t like any of them.” “But—” She didn’t seem to be listening. “I know that class of man,” she said; “and the wife appears, if anything, to be worse. As for the girl—” “When you come to know them—” I said.