"Twenty-five dollars, and not even a spare room!" she gasped. "Why,
John, it's too nice—it must be. We did n't want such a fancy one."
"Oh, 't is n't fancy," laughed the man, "not a bit! It's clean and neat and on a respectable street. Land costs something down there, you know. You have to pay something for rent. Why, I pay fifty, myself."
"Oh, oh!" moaned Sarah. Then she threw back her head with an assumed courage. "Never mind, I 'll just have to change my plans a bit. I did n't intend to keep anything, but I can have just a few hens and a cow as well as not, and that will help some. Like enough I can sell a little butter and what eggs I don't use, too, and—" a long, hearty laugh interrupted her.
"Oh, Cousin Sarah, Cousin Sarah!" choked John, as soon as he could find his voice.
"Well," said Mrs. Dalton, with some dignity, "I'm waiting."
Cousin John pulled his face into shape and steadied his voice.
"Sarah, your flat is up three flights, and has n't even a back piazza.
Where are you going to keep hens and cows?"
Mrs. Dalton's jaw fell.
"Three flights!" she gasped.
He nodded.