are faithful, you know. The village is in sight, and the big farm bell
can be heard a mile away. Nobody will molest us. I assure you we shall
not be afraid; and last of all, I can handle a pistol as well as a man,
if need be; and Libby is a terror with a hat pin! Now do be good and let
us try it."

The brave girl had her way, no matter if Davis did want to add the four
hundred acres of the Milford farm to his own fine estate.

The first year was not a bed of roses for the inexperienced young
farmers, but they were not daunted. A music class and a dozen pupils in
belles-lettres helped out the income, and there was no inconsiderable
revenue from the sale of milk, butter, eggs, fruit and vegetables.

They had "the orchard, the meadow, and deep-tangled wildwood," full of
sacred memories. They fairly gloried in their dairy, the poultry yard,
and garden. They were up at daylight, and with the help of a small boy
from the cabins, gathered the marketing which Margaret, in her high
cart, took to the hotels at the thriving village of the railroad
junction.

Richard Davis undertook the live-stock raising for the sisters on
the shares. This was a great help, though Uncle Abner, who had been
bulldozed into complacency, he said, hinted on occasions that the "young
fellow would be sharing himself with one of 'em before long." However,
the energetic maidens gave no heed, save to the grand purpose of their
lives.

They learned to "gar old clo'es amaist as weel as new." Carpets were
darned and scoured and turned; the time-honored furniture was patched