"Tell her about the house," prompted Mrs. Jenkins, her quick, maternal
eye noting the bewilderment and disapproval in her daughter's expressive
eyes.

"It's all green meaders and orcherds and lanes," said the Boarder with
the volubility of one repeating an oft-told and well-loved tale, while
the young Jenkinses with the rapt, intense gaze of moving picture
beholders sat in pleased expectancy, "and the house sets on a little
rise of ground. It's a white house with a big chimbley and two stoops,
and thar's a big barn with two white hosses in it, and a cow and an
animal in the paster lot. A big pen of pigs, fifty hens in the henhouse,
and a few sheep. Thar's a piece of woods and the river."

"I'm a little fearful of the river on Iry's account," said Mrs. Jenkins,
"but we kin spank him up good as soon as we git thar, and then he'll
understand he's to keep away."

"We kin git a good dog to keep track of Iry and the cattle," said the
Boarder, and then he paused expectantly to listen to Amarilly's
approbation. But she was strangely silent.

"It will be a fust class investment," he continued sagely.

"Why will it? We don't know anything about farming," objected Amarilly.
"We'll have to hire someone to run it."

"I was brought up on a farm," replied the Boarder. "Thar ain't a thing I
don't know about farm work."