of the meadows and the hum of the bees in the orchards. Any orchards at
my farm, Major?"

"Don't know, sir."

"Pretty soon," continued Uncle John, "it's going to be dreadfully hot in
New York, and we'll have to get away."

"Seashore's the place," remarked the Major. "Atlantic City, or
Swampscott, or--"

"Rubbish!" growled the other man, impatiently. "The girls and I have
just come from Europe. We've had enough sea to last us all _this_
season, at least. What we pine for is country life--pure milk, apple
trees and new mown hay."

"We, Uncle?" said Patsy.

"Yes, my dear. A couple of months on the farm will do all of my nieces
good. Beth is still with Louise, you know, and they must find the city
deadly dull, just now. The farm's the thing. And the Major can run up to
see us for a couple of weeks in the hot weather, and we'll all have a
glorious, lazy time."

"And we can take Mary along to do the cooking," suggested Patsy,
entering into the idea enthusiastically.

"And eat in our shirt-sleeves!" said Uncle John, with a glowing face.

"And have a cow and some pigs!" cried the girl.