"For the land sake!" ejaculated Lois Daggett; "you cer'nly have got
an imagination, Miss Orr. I haven't heard that town hall idea spoken
of since Andrew Bolton's time. He was always talking about town
improvements; wanted a town hall and courses of lectures, and a
fountain playing in a park and a fire-engine, and the land knows
what. He was a great hand to talk, Andrew Bolton was. And you see how
he turned out!"

"And mebbe he'd have done all those nice things for Brookville, Lois,
if his speculations had turned out different," said Mrs. Daggett,
charitably. "I always thought Andrew Bolton _meant_ all right. Of
course he had to invest our savings; banks always do, Henry says."

"I don't know anything about _investing_, and don't want to,
either--not the kind he did, anyhow," retorted Lois Daggett.

She arose as she spoke, brushing the crumbs of sponge cake from her
skirt.

"I got to get that order right in," she said: "five copies--or was it
six, you said?"

"I think I could use six," murmured Lydia.

"And all leather-bound! Well, now, I know you won't ever be sorry.
It's one of those works any intelligent person would be proud to
own."

"I'm sure it is," said the girl gently.