“Mebbe not,” said Hiram Strong, trying to repress his eagerness. “Why not try it?”
“Try to run that farm?” cried she. “Why, I'd jest as lief go up in one o' those aeroplanes and try to run it. I wouldn't be no more up in the air then than I would be on a farm,” she added, grimly.
“Get somebody to run it for you—do the outside work, I mean, Mrs. Atterson,” said Hiram. “You could keep house out there just as well as you do here. And it would be easy for you to learn to milk——”
“That whitefaced cow? My goodness! I'd just as quick learn to milk a switch-engine!”
“But it's only her head that looks so wicked to you,” laughed Hiram. “And you don't milk that end.”
“Well—mebbe,” admitted Mrs. Atterson, doubtfully. “I reckon I could make butter again—I used to do that when I was a girl at my aunt's. And either I'd make those hens lay or I'd have their dratted heads off!
“And my goodness me! To get rid of the boarders—Oh, stop your talkin', Hi Strong! That is too good to ever be true. Don't talk to me no more.”
“But I want to talk to you, Mrs. Atterson,” persisted the youth, eagerly.
“Well, who'd I get to do the outside work—put in crops, and 'tend 'em, and look out for that old horse?”
Hiram almost choked. This opportunity should not get past him if he could help it!