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 business seems to be one thing, and sometimes another," the farmer's wife concluded.

"I'd like to see him."

"I don't think you'd be specially taken with him," dryly returned Mrs. Obed. "But he might happen here before you get off. He goes all over the country in long journeys. Sometimes Mr. Clagg—that's the lawyer over to Chantico—don't know his address for weeks."

"And he's really the last of the Jennisons, you say? What a pity he don't live in this old place himself, and keep it up, for the sake of the family."

Mrs. Probasco examined a stocking carefully.

"Yes, it's a pity. But I don't much think he could. Mr. Jennison isn't married, an' he isn't rich, you see, nor—"

Just then Obed's strong voice came from the door-way where he had been pausing. "Look here, Loreta," he exclaimed, banteringly, "I should think you'd feel ashamed of yourself to sit there an' try to pull the wool over their eyes! Where's the use? I know you've a considerable loyal feelin' to the Jen-