"And if you come in on Saturday you can--" Bess was saying in a positive
tone that admitted of no retreat, when Matthew's huge blue car came around
the drive from the front of Elmnest and stopped by Bess's roadster. On the
front seat sat Matthew, and Corn-tassel was beside him, but the rest of the
car was piled high with huge sacks of grain, which looked extremely
sensible and out of place in the handsomest car in the Harpeth Valley.

"Oh, Miss Ann, Mr. Matthew and I found the greatest bargain in winter
wheat, and the man opened every sack and let me run my arm to the elbow in
it. It is all hard and not short in a single grain. We are going to trade
you half." And Polly's blue eyes, which still looked like the
uncommercialized violet despite a six weeks' acquaintance with society in
Hayesville, danced with true farmer delight.

"It's warranted to make 'em lay in night shifts, Ann," said Matthew as he
beamed down upon me with a delight equal to Polly's, and somehow equally as
young. "Where'll I put it? In the feed-room in the bins?"

"Yes, and they are almost empty. I was wondering what I would do next for
food, because I owe Rufus and the hogs so much," I answered gratefully.

"What did you pay?" asked Bess, in a business-like tone of voice.

"Only a dollar and a quarter a bushel, all seed grade," answered Matthew,
with the greatest nonchalance, as if he had known the grades of wheat from
his earliest infancy.

"Why, Owen bought two bags of it for our joint family and paid such a
fortune for it that I forgot the figures immediately; but I took up the
rug and put it all in my dressing-room to watch over, lest thieves break