as solved; expending the rest of the money in turning the dilapidated barn into a place where they could hold high revels of various innocent sorts.  The two freshman sons, two boarding-school daughters, and a married sister barely old enough to chaperon her own baby, brought parties of gay young friends with them several weeks in succession.  These excursions were a great delight to the villagers, who thus enjoyed all the pleasures and excitements of a circus with none of its attendant expenses.  They were of short duration, however, for Lemuel Hamilton was appointed consul to a foreign port and took his wife and daughters with him.  The married sister died, and in course of time one of the sons went to China to learn tea-planting and the other established himself on a ranch in Texas.  Thus the Lemuel Hamiltons were scattered far and wide, and as the Yellow House in Beulah had small value as real estate and had never played any part in their lives, it was almost forgotten as the busy years went by.

“Mr. Hamilton told me four years ago, when I went up to Boston to meet him, that if I could get any rent from respectable parties I might let the house, though he wouldn’t lay out a cent on repairs in order to get a tenant.  But, land! there ain’t no call for houses in Beulah, nor hain’t been for twenty years,” so Bill Harmon, the storekeeper, told Gilbert.  “The house has got a tight roof and good underpinnin’, and if your folks feel like payin’ out a little money for paint ‘n’ paper you can fix it up neat’s a pin.  The Hamilton boys jest raised Cain out in the barn, so ’t you can’t keep no critters there.”

“We couldn’t have a horse or a cow anyway,” said Gilbert.

“Well, it’s lucky you can’t.  I could ‘a’ rented the house twice over if there’d been any barn room; but them confounded young scalawags ripped out the horse and cow stalls, cleared away the pig pen, and laid a floor they could dance on.  The barn chamber ‘s full o’ their stuff, so ’t no hay can go in; altogether there ain’t any nameable kind of a fool-trick them young varmints didn’t play on these premises.  When a farmer’s lookin’ for a home for his family and stock ’t ain’t no use to show him a dance hall.  The only dancin’ a Maine farmer ever does is dancin’ round to git his livin’ out o’ the earth;—­that keeps his feet flyin’, fast enough.”

“Well,” said Gilbert, “I think if you can put the rent cheap enough so that we could make the necessary repairs, I think my mother would consider it.”

“Would you want it for more ’n this summer?” asked Mr. Harmon.

“Oh! yes, we want to live here!”

“Want to live here!” exclaimed the astonished Harmon.  “Well, it’s been a long time sence we heard anybody say that, eh, Colonel?

“Well now, sonny” (Gilbert did wish that respect for budding manhood could be stretched a little further in this locality), “I tell you what, I ain’t goin’ to stick no fancy price on these premises—­”