faint notes of a bugle sounding from the Post.

"Lights out," said Moya. "We must go."

"You haven't told me yet where our Garden is to be," he said.

"I will tell you on the way home."

When they had come down into the neighborhood of ranches, and Bisuka's
lights were twinkling below them, she asked: "Who lives now in the
grandfather's house on the Hudson?"

"The farmer, Chauncey Dunlop."

"Is there any other house on the place?"

"Yes. Mother built a new one on the Ridge some years ago."

"What sort of a house is it?"

"It was called a good house once; but now it's rather everything it
shouldn't be. It was one of the few rash things mother ever did; build a
house for her children while they were children. Now she will not change
it. She says we shall build for ourselves, how and where we please. Stone
Ridge is her shop. Of course, if Chrissy liked it--But Chrissy considers
it a 'hole.' Mother goes up there and indulges in secret orgies of
economy; one man in the stable, one in the garden--'Economy has its
pleasures for all healthy minds.'"

"Economy is as delicious as bread and butter after too much candy. I