of
their own and be compelled to take care of it. There's that house and garden where you board and lodge the mill-hands. Why not give 'em that and let 'em keep boarders? The boarders, the four acres of ground, and the cow and garden ought to keep them in modest comfort. This would make them free and independent, as everybody ought to be."
"But the boarding-house belongs with the farm. I Ve sold it to your uncle."
"Then let Uncle Lije lease or sell it to them, share and share alike."
"What is it worth?" asked Mary.
"Only about three hundred dollars, the way property sells now," said her uncle.
"Then let 'em pay you rent. The place ought to support them and pay interest and taxes."
"Yes," cried Mary; "the old bachelor contingent, that worry you all so much because you keep 'em dependent on your bounty, can take care of themselves for twenty years to come, if you'll only let 'em."
"The proposition is worth considering, certainly," said their father, smiling admiringly upon his daughters.
"And we'll consider it, too," said the uncle. "That mudi is settled."
IV
OLD BLOOD AND NEW
CAN'T see why old folks like us will persist in living after we 've outgrown our usefulness," exclaimed Grandfather Ranger, one sloppy March evening, as he entered the little kitchen and placed a pail of foaming milk upon the clean white table. The severely cold weather had given way to a springtime thaw; but a wet snow had begun falling at sundown, and a so
