Aunt Cal came back down the path, Adam at her heels. “Well now that that’s over,” she said, “we’ll be able to settle down to normal living again! Michael thinks I should put that south pasture into potatoes next year. What do you think, Rose?”
“Farmer Gilpatrick advises!” Eve twinkled at him.
“Well?” he inquired challengingly, “what’s the matter with that? Suppose I should turn into a farmer, what then?”
“Why, then,” she returned, “you’ll buy a farm next to ours—next to Craven House I mean—and make it the very finest, most scientific, up-to-date farm in the whole countryside.”
“Well, you might do worse,” Hamish remarked solemnly. “I read the other day where a fellow was out plowin’ up a field and what d’you s’pose he turned up? An old gold piece, yes sir! And come to find out when he dug down there was a whole lot of ’em buried where some early settler fellow had hid ’em when the Indians was comin’. What d’you think of that!”
“That settles it!” laughed Michael. “I shall become a farmer.”
THE END
Transcriber’s Note
Some presumed printers’ errors have been corrected, including normalizing punctuation.