"Yes, I suppose so; he offered us three thousand dollars for it; he
doesn't care to buy the little brick cottage that goes with it--which
isn't strange, for it has only five rooms, and is horribly out of repair.
Grandfather used it for his foreman; but, of course, we've never needed
it and never shall, so I wish he did want it."

"Oh, Austin--could _I_ buy it? I've been _dying_ for it ever since I
first saw it! It could be made perfectly charming, and it's plenty big
enough for me! I've sold my Fifth Avenue house, and I'm going to sell the
one on Long Island too--great, hideous, barnlike places! Your mother
won't want me forever, and I want a little place of my very own, and _I
love_ Hamstead--and the river--and the valley--I didn't dare suggest
this--you all, except Thomas, seemed so averse to disposing of any of the
property, but--'

"If we sell the meadow to Weston, I am sure you can have the cottage and
as much land as you want around it; but the trouble is--"

"You need a great deal more money; of course, I know that. Have you any
insurance?"

"Very little."

For some moments she sat turning things over in her mind, and was quiet
for so long that Austin began to fear that she was more badly hurt than
she had admitted, and found it an effort to talk.

"Is anything the matter?" he asked at last, anxiously. "Are you in pain?"