"Keep yer ol' woman out'n it. She'd spile a rotten apple." "Who then, Nick?" "Why, school-teacher's the right one, I guess. They've got a vacation now, an' likely she'll come over here an' put things to rights. Peggy, that air new furniture's the rambunctionest stuff thet ever come inter these parts, an' it'll make the ol' house bloom like a rose in Spring. But folks like us hain't got no call to tech it. You fetch school-teacher." Peggy sighed. He was keeping track of his time and charging John Merrick at the rate of two dollars a day, being firmly resolved to "make hay while the sun was shining" and absorb as much of the money placed in his hands as possible. To let "school-teacher" into this deal and be obliged to pay her wages was an undesirable thing to do; yet he reflected that it might be wise to adopt Nick Thorne's suggestion. So next morning he drove the liveryman's sorrel mare out to Thompson's Crossing, where the brick school-house stood on one corner and Will Thompson's residence on another. A mile away could be seen the spires of the little church at Hooker's Falls. McNutt hitched his horse to Thompson's post, walked up the neat pebbled path and knocked at the door. "Ethel in?" he asked of the sad-faced woman who, after some delay, answered his summons. "She's in the garden, weedin'." "I'll go 'round," said the agent. The garden was a bower of roses. Among them stood a slender girl in a checked gingham, tying vines to a trellis. "Morn'n', Ethel," said the visitor. The girl smiled at him. She was not very pretty, because her face was long and wan, and her nose a bit one-sided. But her golden hair sparkled in the sun like a mass of spun gold, and the smile was winning in its unconscious sweetness. Surely, such attractions were enough for a mere country girl. Ethel Thompson had, however, another claim to distinction. She had been "eddicated," as her neighbors acknowledged in awed tones, and "took a diploma from a college school at Troy." Young as she was, Ethel had taught school for two years, and might have a life tenure if she cared to retain the position. As he looked at her neat gown and noted the grace and ease of her movements the agent acknowledged that he had really "come to the right shop" to untangle his perplexing difficulties. "New folks is comin' to the Cap'n Wegg farm," he announced, as a beginning. She turned and looked at him queerly. "Has Joe sold the place?" she asked. "Near a year ago. Some fool rich man has bought it and is comin' down here to spend his summer vacation, he says. Here, read his letters. They'll explain it better 'n I can." Her hand trembled a little as she took the letters McNutt pulled from his pocket. Then she sat upon a bench and read them all through. By that time she had regained her composure. "The gentleman is somewhat eccentric," she remarked; "but he will make no mistake in coming to this delightful place, if he wishes quiet and rest."