"Mr. Philip!" exclaimed Eliza distractedly, clasping her hard hands as his meaning broke upon her. "There ain't any use to talk about it even! How could I ever clean that place for you!"
"I shan't let you touch it! Hurrah!" exclaimed the artist, turning a somersault in the grass and coming right-side up so suddenly that Eliza blinked.
"Oh, my sorrows and cares!" she mourned; "it's the craziest idea"—
"When, when did you say she's coming?"
"To-morrow. Dear, dear!" Eliza was half laughing and half crying.
"Then I've only to wait one night. Oh, it's too good to be true, like everything else that happens to me." Another flight of long arms and legs accompanied by a whoop of joy, and once more Phil was right-side up and catching Eliza by the arm.
"Let's go and tell Mrs. Wright," he exclaimed, and hurried his companion toward the farmhouse, where Mrs. Wright was sitting on the rustic bench.
"He's crazy," declared Eliza. "Tell him so. There must be lots o' better places. That wouldn't smell good in a thousand years."
But when Phil had divulged his great plan, Mrs. Wright nodded.
"The very thing," she said. "I'm sure Jane will let you use it free, and be glad to have it put in shape. Then you can take as many or as few meals here as you like."