receive it. 

 There were other details—electric lights, silver-mounted chains, and other little things—but I did not pay much attention to them. I explained to Isobel that it would be difficult to build a firm, solid hill, large enough to back a three-story stable against, in our backyard. Of course, there were plenty of hills in our part of Long Island that were lying idle and might be had at low cost, but it costs a great deal to move a hill, and all of them were so large they would overlap our property and bury the homes of Mr. Rolfs and Mr. Millington. This did not greatly impress Isobel, however, and I had to come out firmly and tell her it would be impossible to build a stable three stories high, with two wings, pressed brick, shingle walls, slate roof, and a weather vane, and at the same time erect a nice hill and buy a horse and rig, all with one thousand dollars, which was all the money I could afford to spend. 

 When I put it that way, and gave her her choice of one thousand dollars' worth of hill, or one thousand dollars' worth of stable, or one thousand dollars' worth of assorted horse, stable, and rig, she chose the last, and only remarked that she would insist on the weather vane and the manure pit. She said that Mrs. Rolfs had taken such an interest, bringing over the magazine, that it was only right to have the weather vane, at least; and that Mrs. Millington had been so interested and kind that the very least we could do was to have the manure pit. 

 “And another thing,” said Isobel, “Mr. Prawley is going to move out of the flat overhead.”  

 “Great Cæsar!” I exclaimed. “Is that man quitting again? Isn't he getting enough wages?”  

 “Wages?” said Isobel. “Nothing has been said about wages. But this Mr. Prawley will not stay if we buy a horse. He says he does not mind gardening your garden and mowing your lawn and taking all your other outdoor exercise for you, but that a horse once reached over the side of the stall and bit him, and he doesn't want to work—to live in a place where horses are liable to bite him at any time without a minute's notice.”  

 “Tell that fellow,” I said, “that we will get a horse that doesn't bite, or that we will muzzle the horse, or—”  

 “It would be easier,” said Isobel, “to—to have a Prawley move in who was not afraid of horses. I know of a man in East Westcote, and he has had experience with horses—”  

 “Very well,” I said. “I 

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