forward. “My name is Gardiner, and I am a gardener just now.”

“And are all these your sisters?” asked Farmer Landsdowne, quizzically. Migwan laughed and introduced the girls in turn. They all liked Farmer Landsdowne immediately. He walked up and down among the rows of vegetables, and gave Migwan quantities of advice about soil cultivation, insects and diseases and various other things pertaining to gardening, for which she thanked him heartily. “Come over and see us,” he said hospitably, as he took his departure, “I live there,” and he pointed to the friendly looking white house on the right of Onoway House.

“Isn’t he a dear?” said Gladys, when he was gone. “I’m glad he’s our next door neighbor. What do you suppose the people on the other side are like?”

“Red isn’t nearly so pretty as white,” said Hinpoha, squinting at the bare looking house to the left of them. As they looked a man came along the edge of the land on which the red house stood. When he reached the fence which separated the two farms he stood still for a few minutes looking hard at Onoway House; then, seeing that the girls were looking in his direction he turned and went back to the house.

The strawberries were ready to pick the first week that the girls were at Onoway House, and Migwan had an idea about marketing them. She gave each picker two baskets with instructions to put only the largest and finest in one and the medium-sized and small ones in the other.

“What are you going to take them to town in?” asked Gladys. Although there was a large barn on the place there were no horses, for Mr. Mitchell, the last caretaker, had owned his own horse and taken it away with him when he left.

“I’ll have to hire one from some of the neighbors,” said Migwan. Mr. Landsdowne, when interviewed, would have been extremely glad to let them take a horse and wagon, but this was a busy time and one of his teams was sick so none could be spared. Feeling considerably more shy than she had when she went to Mr. Landsdowne, Migwan went over to the red house. As she went around the path to the back door she heard sounds of loud talking in a man’s voice, which ceased as she came up on the porch. A red faced man, (he almost matched the house, thought Migwan) came to the door. “I am your new neighbor, Elsie Gardiner,” said Migwan, “and I wonder if I could hire a horse and wagon from you three times a week to take my vegetables to town.”

“So you’ve come to live on the place, have you?” said the man. “How long are you going to stay?”

“All summer,” replied Migwan. She was not drawn to this man as she was to Farmer Landsdowne. There was something about him that seemed to repel her, although she could not have told what it was.

“Yes, I can let you have a horse and wagon,” he said, after a moment. “When do you want it?”

“In about an hour,” said Migwan.

“I’ll send it over,” said the master of the red house. “My name’s Smalley, Abner Smalley,” he said, as she took her leave.

In an hour the horse was at the door. It was brought over by a pleasant-faced, light-haired lad of about seventeen, who introduced himself as Calvin Smalley.

“You don’t look a bit like your father,” said Migwan.

“That’s not my father,” said Calvin, “that’s my uncle. My father’s dead. He was Uncle Abner’s brother. I live with Uncle Abner and Aunt Maggie. But the farm’s really mine,” he said proudly, as though he did not want anyone to think he was living on charity even though he was an orphan, “for Grandfather willed it to Father. Uncle Abner’s holding it in trust for me until I’m of age.”

There was something so frank and manly about him that the girls liked him at once. But if Calvin Smalley made such a good impression, the horse which he had brought over for the girls to drive to town was less fortunate. He was a hoary, moth-eaten looking creature that might easily have been the first white horse born west of the Mississippi. In looking at him you would be left with a lingering doubt in your mind as to whether he had originally been white or had turned white with age. He tottered so that each step threatened to be his last The wagon to which he was fastened with a patched and rotten harness had probably been on the scene some years before he was born. Migwan was much taken aback when she inspected him. “I wouldn’t dare attempt to drive that beast all the way to town,” she thought to herself. “He’d never get beyond the first bend in the road. And if he did make it he’d go so slowly that my berries would be out of season before I got to my customers.”

“Isn’t he rather—old?” she said, aloud. “I’m afraid he isn’t able to work much.”

Calvin blushed fiery red and his eyes sought the ground in distress. “It’s a shame,” he said, fiercely, “to try to hire out such a horse. I don’t blame you for not wanting it.” Without another word he climbed into the wagon and urged the feeble horse back to his home pasture.

“Didn’t you feel sorry for that poor boy?” said Migwan. “He felt ashamed clear down to his shoes at having to bring that old wreck of a horse over. I should have died if I had been in his place. He’s such a nice looking boy, too. I suppose his uncle is one of those stingy, grasping farmers who work everybody to death on the place. Anybody who plants vegetables in his front yard must be stingy. That horse probably couldn’t work on the farm any more so he thought he would make some money out of it by hiring it to us. He must have thought girls didn’t know a horse when they saw one. I didn’t exactly fall in love with Mr. Smalley when I went over. He wasn’t a bit friendly like Mr. Landsdowne.”

“I foresee where we will have little to do with our neighbors in the Red House,” said Sahwah. “I’m sorry, because I like to have lots of people to visit, and like to have them running in at odd times, the way Mr. Landsdowne appeared.”

“Let’s not have any hard feelings against Calvin Smalley, though,” said Migwan. “He isn’t to blame for his uncle’s stinginess. I dare say he isn’t very happy over there. Let’s have him over as often as we can.”

“Spoken like a true Winnebago,” said Nyoda, approvingly.

“But in the meantime,” said Migwan, in perplexity, “what are we going to do for a horse and wagon to take our things to town?”

“Why not use our car?” said Gladys. The machine she had come in was still in the barn at Onoway House. “It’s a good thing I learned to run the big one—father said I might use it all summer if I would be a good girl and stay at home when they went out west.”

“Could we get everything in?” asked Migwan.

“I think so,” said Gladys, “if we arrange them carefully.” The berries and asparagus were loaded into the back of the machine and Gladys and Migwan drove off.

“What shall we do now, Nyoda?” asked Hinpoha, after the two girls were gone.

“I know what I’m going to do,” said Nyoda, moving in the direction of her bedroom. “Now,” she said, as she threw herself on the bed with a great yawn and stretch, “if anyone asks you what kind of a farmer I am you may tell them that I’m a retired one!” Nyoda had been up since four o’clock that morning, and was unused to such early rising. Hinpoha drew down the shade to shut out the strong sunlight and tiptoed from the room.

Gladys and Migwan stopped first at a large grocery store to inquire the prices of strawberries and asparagus. The proprietor offered to buy the whole load, but they would not sell, as they could get more for them by peddling them at