just come to get Mr. Welles settled, and to make him a visit. His name
is Mr. Marsh."

"Well, what's _he_ like?" asked Aunt Hetty, folding together the old
wadded petticoat she had been shaking.

"Oh, he's all right too," said Elly. She wasn't going to say anything
about that funny softness of his hands, she didn't like, because that
would be like speaking about the snow-drift; something Aunt Hetty would
just laugh at, and call one of her notions.

"Well, what do they _do_ with themselves, two great hulking men set off
by themselves?"

Elly tried seriously to remember what they did do. "I don't see them, of
course, much in the morning before I go to school. I guess they get up
and have their breakfast, the way anybody does."

Aunt Hetty snorted a little, "Gracious, child, a person needs a
corkscrew to get anything out of you. I mean all day, with no chores, or
farmin', or _any_thing."

"I don't _know_," Elly confessed. "Mr. Clark, of course, he's busy
cooking and washing dishes and keeping house, but . . ."

"Are there _three_ of them?" Aunt Hetty stopped her dudsing in her
astonishment. "I thought you said two."

"Oh well, Mr. Marsh sent down to the city and had this Mr. Clark come up
to work for them. He doesn't call him 'Mr. Clark'--just 'Clark,' short