Tom might have had a family, thought the Major. It would have been rather pleasant to have some grandchildren to whom he might leave his money. Spot seemed to have no idea of marrying, and as for Evelyn and Myra—they were old maids from the time they were born! They were handsome enough, with their yellow hair and fair skin—all the Taylors were fair—but suitors were slow to come to the Mill House or the ladies were too particular. Major Taylor had an idea that neither one of his daughters had ever had a proposal of marriage. He freely bantered them because of their lack of admirers. He wondered that it should be the case. Taylors had always married, and married well. It never entered his mind that his own caustic wit and teasing tongue had kept possible admirers away.
"Mail late, as usual!" stormed the Major, standing out on the porch where his daughters sat at opposite sides, as far apart as they could get from one another, Myra studying the intricacies of a fireless cooker advertised in the back of her magazine and Evelyn reading a religious paper.
"Not on speaking terms again, eh?" he questioned, noticing the ladies were not seated in a conversational circle. "Why don't you girls
