“But in a few years,” said Chester, musingly, “there will be no Miss Priscilla and Miss Dorinda.”
“Of course,” said Stella, “that’s what I often think. And after they’re gone, that place must belong to Ladybird.”
“But it can’t, dear,” said Chester. “You see, Lavinia is the rightful heir, and of course, after the death of the old ladies, the farm must belong to her. But they aren’t dead yet,” he went on, cheerfully, “and meantime I have troubles of my own. Little girl, when are you going to marry me?”
“Is that one of your troubles?” said Stella, smiling straight into his brown eyes.
“It will be a trouble,” said Chester, “until you tell me the day when my troubles shall end.”
“Then you’ll be troubled for a good while,” said Stella, still smiling, “because I’m not going to marry you for ever and ever so long.”
“You’re not! Well, I just guess you are, miss!”
“Indeed!” said Stella. “And, pray, what have you to say about it?”
“Oh, I haven’t anything to say,” responded young Humphreys, airily; “but I can scream for help; I’ll call in Ladybird.”
“Here she is now,” called Ladybird’s cheery voice. “What do you want of her?”