It was a dilapidated old ruin, crumbling away in a
shaggy old orchard full of gnarled and ancient apple trees, satin-skinned
cherry trunks, some plums and peaches, and tangled shrubs of all kinds.
With the aid of his wife Elizabeth, some dollars and much work, Rollins
transformed the old ruin into the sort of a country place that one reads
about and imagines only millionaires may have. They say that when Old
Skinflint Holden saw the transformation he stood stock-still, then tied
his team to the artistic hitching post under the old elms and went in
search of Rollins. He found him in the orchard in the laziest of
hammocks literally worshipping the flowering trees all about him. Old
Skinflint Holden was awed.
"Jehohasaphat! Bern, how did you do it?"
"Oh," smiled the artist, "we cleaned and patched it, put on a new bit
here and there and sort of nursed it into shape. Doc Philipps gave us
bulbs and seeds and loads of advice and then Elizabeth, I guess, sort of
loved it into a home."
"Well--I guess," mused Skinflint Holden. "Must have cost you a pretty
penny?"
"Why, no, it didn't. I'm telling you it wasn't a matter of dollars so
much as love. If you use plenty of that you can economize on the money
somewhat.
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