"This seems to be a fine place of yours," he said, taking the chair once more offered to his acceptance, and addressing the farmer. "That was as pretty a meadow I just crossed as one might wish to see!"
"Yes, there is some good land between this and the brook," answered the man, pleased with these commendations of his property.
"You keep it in good order, too; such timothy I have not seen these five years."
"Wal, true enough, one may call that grass a little mite superior to the common run, I do think!" answered the farmer, taking his chubby little daughter on one knee, and smoothing her thick hair with both his hard palms. "Considering how the old place was run down when we took it, we haven't got much to be ashamed of, anyhow."
"You have not always owned the farm?" Jacob's voice shook as he asked the question, but the farmer was busy caressing his child, and only observed the import of his words, not the tone in which they were uttered.
"I rayther think you must be a stranger in these parts, for everybody knows how long I've been upon the place; nigh upon ten years, isn't it, Mabel?"
"Ten years last spring," replied the woman, in a pleasant, low tone; "jist three years before Lucy was born."
"That's it! she's as good as an almanac at dates; could beat a hull class of us boys at cyphering when we went to school together, couldn't you, Mabel?"
The wife answered with a blush, and a good-humored smile divided cordially between her husband and Jacob.