"Some rich folks is comin' in and buying up pieces of land and
making what they calls 'gentlemen's estates' out o' them. A
family named Bronson--Mr. Stephen Bronson, with one little
girl-- bought the Fleigler place only last month.

"They're nice folks," pursued this amiable but talkative lady,
"and they don't live but a mile or so along the Scoville
road. You passed the place--white, with green shutters, and a
water-tower in the back, when you walked up."

"I remember it," said Hiram, nodding.

"They're western folk. Come clear from out in Injiany, or
Illiny, or the like. The girl's going to school and she ain't
got no mother, so her father's come on East with her to be near
the school.

"Well, I can't help you no more. Them hens! Well, I'd sell 'em
if I was Mis' Atterson.

"Hens ain't much nowadays, anyhow; and I expect a good many
of those are too old to lay. Uncle Jeptha couldn't fuss with
chickens, and he didn't raise only a smitch of 'em last year and
the year before--just them that the hens hatched themselves in
stolen nests, and chanced to bring up alive.

"You better grease the cart before you use it. It's stood since
they hauled in corn last fall.