A very notable woman was the widow. When the new railway cut off part of
the old farm, she had split up the slice of land between the iron track
and the village into "town lots," and had sold them all off by the time
the railway company paid her for the "damage" it had done the property.

The whole Kinzer family gained visibly in plumpness that year, except,
perhaps, Dabney.

Of course the condition and requirements of Ham Morris and his big farm,
just over the north fence, had not escaped such a pair of eyes as those
of the widow; and the very size of his great barn of a house finally
settled his fate for him.

A large, quiet, unambitious, but well-brought-up and industrious young
man was Hamilton Morris, and he had not the least idea of the good in
store for him for several months after Mrs. Kinzer decided to marry him
to her daughter Miranda; but all was soon settled. Dab, of course, had
nothing to do with the wedding arrangements, and Ham's share was
somewhat contracted. Not but what he was at the Kinzer house a good
deal; nor did any of the other girls tell Miranda how very much he was
in the way. He could talk, however; and one morning, about a fortnight
before the day appointed, he said to Miranda and her mother,--

"We can't have so very much of a wedding: your house is so small, and
you've chocked it so full of furniture. Right down nice furniture it is
too; but there's so much of it, I'm afraid the minister'll have to stand
out in the front yard."

"The house'll do for this time," replied Mrs. Kinzer. "There'll be room