"What? Tramp through the house just to look at it? I don't believe in doing that," replied Uncle Ezra, firmly. "Things wear out fast enough as it is without using them when it isn't necessary. No use walking on the best carpets when there isn't a need for it. Besides, I don't believe in spending money on a house when it's good enough. Your place was very nice without adding to it. Think of the money you could have saved." "But I didn't have to save it," responded Mr. Hamilton. "I made lots this year, and I thought it was a wise thing to put it into something permanent. I have increased the value of my house." "Much better put it in the bank," advised Uncle Ezra, with a disapproving sniff. Mr. Hamilton and Dick tried to entertain their visitor, but it was hard work. He cared nothing for the things they were interested in, and was somewhat inclined to dictate what Mr. Hamilton should do with his money. "You burn too many lights," he said, noting that several incandescents were aglow in the library where they sat. "One would do as well," and he turned out all but one. "I contract for it by the year," said Mr. Hamilton. "It doesn't cost me any more to burn five lamps than it does one." "But the lamps wear out," was Uncle Ezra's answer. "And speaking of things wearing out reminds me. We got a letter the other day and it almost made Samanthy sick. She hasn't got over the shock of it yet." "What was it?" asked Dick. "Why, it was from some crazy society in New York, wanting us to take twenty-five 'fresh-air children,' the letter said, to board at our house for a few weeks. Said they heard we had a big farmhouse and could accommodate 'em." "Are you going to take them?" inquired Mr. Hamilton. "I think your house would be just the place for them. You have lots of room, and you can't eat all that you raise on the farm. It would do the poor things good." "Are--we--going--to--take--them?" repeated Mr. Larabee. "I'm surprised at you, Mortimer Hamilton. The idea of taking twenty-five street-arabs in our house! Why, the very idea of it made Samanthy sick a bed for a day. Those rapscallions wouldn't leave a carpet on the floor! They'd tear the house apart! I know! I've read about 'fresh-air children' before." "You might take the carpets up," suggested Dick, with a smile. "What?" almost shouted Uncle Ezra. "Nephew Richard, there's carpets in our house that hasn't been up for years. Why the spare room hasn't been opened since sister Jane's funeral, and that was--let me see--that was the year when Ruth Enderby got married. Take 'fresh-air children' into our house! Why, we wouldn't have any house left at the end of the week." "Oh, I guess not as bad as that," replied Mr. Hamilton, indulgently. "But, of course, you know your own business best. I hope Mrs. Larabee soon recovers."