shivering sense of discomfort whenever he caught her small, greenish eyes
fixed upon him.

"Yet, she'll be the only one who'll earn her salt. I don't see how I'm going
to stand 'em--I don't, indeed, but suppose I'll have to for three months, or
else sell out and clear out."

By the time he reached town a cold rain had set in. He went at once to the
intelligence office, but could obtain no girl for Mrs. Mumpson to
"superintend," nor any certain promise of one. He did not much care, for he
felt that the new plan was not going to work. Having bartered all his eggs
for groceries, he sold the old stove and bought a new one, then drew from the
bank a little ready money. Since his butter was so inferior, he took it to
his friend Tom Watterly, the keeper of the poorhouse.

Prosperous Tom slapped his old friend on the back and said, "You look awfully
glum and chopfallen, Jim. Come now, don't look at the world as if it was made
of tar, pitch, and turpentine. I know your luck's been hard, but you make it
a sight harder by being so set in all your ways. You think there's no place
to live on God's earth but that old up-and-down-hill farm of yours that I
wouldn't take as a gift. Why, man alive, there's a dozen things you can turn
your hand to; but if you will stay there, do as other men do. Pick out a
smart, handy woman that can make butter yaller as gold, that'll bring gold,
and not such limpsy-slimsy, ghostly-looking stuff as you've brought me. Bein'
it's you, I'll take it and give as much for it as I'd pay for better, but you
can't run your old ranch in this fashion."

"I know it, Tom," replied Holcroft ruefully. "I'm all at sea; but, as you say,
I'm set in my ways, and I'd rather live on bread and milk and keep my farm
than make money anywhere else. I guess I'll have to give it all up, though,