daintiest and prettiest little creature the young farmer had ever
seen.

"I am Lettie Bronson," she said, frankly. "I live down the road
toward Scoville. We have only just come here."

"I know where you live," said Hiram, smiling and nodding.

"You must come and see us. I want you to know father. He's the
very nicest man there is, I think."

"He came all the way East here so as to live near my school--I
go to the St. Beris school in Scoville. It's awfully nice, and
the girls are very fashionable; but I'd be too lonely to live if
daddy wasn't right near me all the time.

"What is your name?" she asked suddenly.

Hiram told her.

"Why! that's a regular farmer's name, isn't it--Hiram?" and
she laughed--a clear and sweet sound, that made an inquisitive
squirrel that had been watching them scamper away to his hollow,
chattering.

"I don't know about that," returned the young farmer, shaking his
head and smiling. "I ought by good rights to be 'a worker in
brass', according to the Bible. That was the trade of Hiram, of
the tribe of Naphtali, who came out of Tyre to make all the brass
work for Solomon's temple."