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diff --git a/1679-0.txt b/1679-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8aebb5e --- /dev/null +++ b/1679-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8731 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Hiram The Young Farmer, by Burbank L. Todd + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Hiram The Young Farmer + +Author: Burbank L. Todd + +Posting Date: October 10, 2008 [EBook #1679] +Release Date: March, 1999 +Last Updated: March 16, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIRAM THE YOUNG FARMER *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer + + + + + +HIRAM THE YOUNG FARMER + +By Burbank L. Todd + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER I. THE CALL OF SPRING + +CHAPTER II. AT MRS. ATTERSON'S + +CHAPTER III. A DREARY DAY + +CHAPTER IV. THE LOST CARD + +CHAPTER V. THE COMMOTION AT MOTHER ATTERSON'S + +CHAPTER VI. THIS DIDN'T GET BY HIRAM + +CHAPTER VII. HOW HIRAM LEFT TOWN + +CHAPTER VIII. THE LURE OF GREEN FIELDS + +CHAPTER IX. THE BARGAIN IS MADE + +CHAPTER X. THE SOUND OF BEATING HOOFS + +CHAPTER XI. A GIRL RIDES INTO THE TALE + +CHAPTER XII. SOMETHING ABOUT A PASTURE FENCE + +CHAPTER XIII. THE UPROOTING + +CHAPTER XIV. GETTING IN THE EARLY CROPS + +CHAPTER XV. TROUBLE BREWS + +CHAPTER XV. ONE SATURDAY AFTERNOON + +CHAPTER XVII. MR. PEPPER APPEARS + +CHAPTER XVIII. A HEAVY CLOUD + +CHAPTER XIX. THE REASON WHY + +CHAPTER XX. AN ENEMY IN THE DARK + +CHAPTER XXI. THE WELCOME TEMPEST + +CHAPTER XXII. FIRST FRUITS + +CHAPTER XXIII. TOMATOES AND TROUBLE + +CHAPTER XXIV. “CORN THAT'S CORN” + +CHAPTER XXV. THE BARBECUE + +CHAPTER XXVI. SISTER'S TURKEYS + +CHAPTER XXVII. RUN TO EARTH + +CHAPTER XXVIII. HARVEST + +CHAPTER XXIX. LETTIE BRONSON'S CORN HUSKING + +CHAPTER XXX. ONE SNOWY MIDNIGHT + +CHAPTER XXXI. “MR. DAMOCLES'S SWORD” + +CHAPTER XXXII. THE CLOUD IS LIFTED + +CHAPTER XXXIII. “CELERY MAD” + +CHAPTER XXXIV. CLEANING UP A PROFIT + +CHAPTER XXXV. LOOKING AHEAD + + + + +CHAPTER I. THE CALL OF SPRING + +“Well, after all, the country isn't such a bad place as some city folk +think.” + +The young fellow who said this stood upon the highest point of the Ridge +Road, where the land sloped abruptly to the valley in which lay the +small municipality of Crawberry on the one hand, while on the other open +fields and patches of woodland, in a huge green-and-brown checkerboard +pattern, fell more easily to the bank of the distant river. + +Dotted here and there about the farming country lying before the youth +as he looked westward were cottages, or the more important-looking +homesteads on the larger farms; and in the distance a white church spire +behind the trees marked the tiny settlement of Blaine's Smithy. + +A Sabbath calm lay over the fields and woods. It was mid-afternoon of +an early February Sunday--the time of the mid-winter thaw, that false +prophet of the real springtime. + +Although not a furrow had been turned as yet in the fields, and the snow +lay deep in some fence corners and beneath the hedges, there was, after +all, a smell of fresh earth--a clean, live smell--that Hiram Strong had +missed all week down in Crawberry. + +“I'm glad I came up here,” he muttered, drawing in great breaths of +the clean air. “Just to look at the open fields, without any brick and +mortar around, makes a fellow feel fine!” + +He stretched his arms above his head and, standing alone there on the +upland, felt bigger and better than he had in weeks. + +For Hiram Strong was a country boy, born and bred, and the town stifled +him. Besides, he had begun to see that his two years in Crawberry had +been wasted. + +“As a hustler after fortune in the city I am not a howling success,” + mused Hiram. “Somehow, I'm cramped down yonder,” and he glanced back +at the squalid brick houses below him, the smoky roofs, and the ugly +factory chimneys. + +“And I declare,” he pursued, reflectively, “I don't believe I can stand +Old Dan Dwight much longer. Dan, Junior, is bad enough--when he is +around the store; but the boss would drive a fellow to death.” + +He shook his head, now turning from the pleasanter prospect of the +farming land and staring down into the town. + +“Maybe I'm not a success because I don't stick to one thing. I've had +six jobs in less'n two years. That's a bad record for a boy, I believe. +But there hasn't any of them suited me, nor have I suited them. + +“And Dwight's Emporium beats 'em all!” finished Hiram, shaking his head. + +He turned his back upon the town once more, as though to wipe his +failure out of his memory. Before him sloped a field of wheat and +clover. + +It had kept as green under the snow as though winter was an unknown +season. Every cloverleaf sparkled and the leaves of wheat bristled like +tiny spears. + +Spring was on the way. He could hear the call of it! + +Two years before Hiram had left the farm. He had no immediate relatives +after his father died. The latter had been a tenant-farmer only, and +when his tools and stock and the few household chattels had been sold +to pay the debts that had accumulated during his last illness, there was +very little money left for Hiram. + +There was nobody to say him nay when he packed his bag and started for +Crawberry, which was the metropolis of his part of the country. He had +set out boldly, believing that he could get ahead faster, and become +master of his own fortune more quickly in town than in the locality +where he was born. + +He was a rugged, well-set-up youth of seventeen, not over-tall, but +sturdy and able to do a man's work. Indeed, he had long done a man's +work before he left the farm. + +Hiram's hands were calloused, he shuffled a bit when walked, and his +shoulders were just a little bowed from holding the plow handles since +he had been big enough to bridle his father's old mare. + +Yes, the work on the farm had been hard--especially for a growing boy. +Many farm boys work under better conditions than Hiram had. + +Nevertheless, after a two years' trial of what the city has in store for +most country boys who cut loose from their old environment, Hiram Strong +felt to-day as though he must get back to the land. + +“There's nothing for me in town. Clerking in Dwight's Emporium will +never get me anywhere,” he thought, turning finally away from the open +country and starting down the steep hill. + +“Why, there are college boys working on our street cars here--waiting +for some better job to turn up. What chance does a fellow stand who's +only got a country school education? + +“And there isn't any clean fun for a fellow in Crawberry--fun that +doesn't cost money. And goodness knows I can't make more than enough to +pay Mrs. Atterson, and for my laundry, and buy a new suit of overalls +and a pair of shoes occasionally. + +“No, sir!” concluded Hiram. “There's nothing in it. Not for a fellow +like me, at any rate. I'd better be back on the farm--and I wish I was +there now.” + +He had been to church that morning; but after the late dinner at his +boarding house had set out on this lonely walk. Now he had nothing to +look forward to as he returned but the stuffy parlor of Mrs. Atterson's +boarding house, the cold supper in the dining-room, which was attended +in a desultory fashion by such of the boarders as were at home, and then +a long, dull evening in his room, or bed after attending the evening +service at the church around the corner. + +Hiram even shrank from meeting the same faces at the boarding house +table, hearing the same stale jokes or caustic remarks about Mrs. +Atterson's food from Fred Crackit and the young men boarders of his +class, or the grumbling of Mr. Peebles, the dyspeptic invalid, or the +inane monologue of Old Lem Camp. + +And Mrs. Atterson herself--good soul though she was--had gotten on Hiram +Strong's nerves, too. With her heat-blistered face, near-sighted eyes +peering through beclouded spectacles, and her gown buttoned up hurriedly +and with a gap here and there where a button was missing, she was the +typically frowsy, hurried, nagged-to-death boarding house mistress. + +And as for “Sister,” Mrs. Atterson's little slavey and +maid-of-all-work---- + +“Well, Sister's the limit!” smiled Hiram, as he turned into the street, +with its rows of ugly brick houses on either hand. “I believe Fred +Crackit has got it right. Mrs. Atterson keeps Sister instead of a +cat--so there'll be something to kick.” + +The half-grown girl--narrow-chested, round shouldered, and sallow--had +been taken by Mrs. Atterson from some charity institution. “Sister,” as +the boarders all called her, for lack of any other cognomen, would have +her yellow hair in four attenuated pigtails hanging down her back, and +she would shuffle about the dining-room in a pair of Mrs. Atterson's old +shoes---- + +“By Jove! there she is now,” exclaimed the startled youth. + +At the corner of the street several “slices” of the brick block had +been torn away and the lot cleared for the erection of some business +building. Running across this open space with wild shrieks and spilling +the milk from the big pitcher she carried--milk for the boarders' tea, +Hi knew--came Mrs. Atterson's maid. + +Behind her, and driving her like a horse by the ever present “pigtails,” + bounded a boy of about her own age--a laughing, yelling imp of a boy +whom Hiram knew very well. + +“That Dan Dwight is the meanest little scamp at this end of the town!” + he said to himself. + +The noise the two made attracted only the idle curiosity of a few +people. It was a locality where, even on Sundays, there was more or less +noise. + +Sister begged and screamed. She feared she would spill the milk and told +Dan, Junior, so. But he only drove her the harder, yelling to her to +“Get up!” and yanking as hard as he could on the braids. + +“Here! that's enough of that!” called Hiram, stepping quickly toward the +two. + +For Sister had stopped exhausted, and in tears. + +“Be off with you!” commanded Hiram. “You've plagued the girl enough.” + +“Mind your business, Hi-ram-Lo-ram!” returned Dan, Junior, grabbing at +Sister's hair again. + +Hiram caught the younger boy by the shoulder and whirled him around. + +“You run along to Mrs. Atterson, Sister,” he said, quietly. “No, you +don't!” he added, gripping Dan, Junior, more firmly. “You'll stop right +here.” + +“Lemme be, Hi Strong!” bawled the other, when he found he could not +easily jerk away. “It'll be the worse for you if you don't.” + +“Just you wait until the girl is home,” returned Hiram, laughing. It was +an easy matter for him to hold the writhing Dan, Junior. + +“I'll fix you for this!” squalled the boy. “Wait till I tell my father.” + +“You wouldn't dare tell your father the truth,” laughed Hi. + +“I'll fix you,” repeated Dan, Junior, and suddenly aimed a vicious kick +at his captor. + +Had the kick landed where Dan, Junior, intended--under Hi's kneecap--the +latter certainly would have been “fixed.” But the country youth was too +agile for him. + +He jumped aside, dragged Dan, Junior, suddenly toward him, and then gave +him a backward thrust which sent the lighter boy spinning. + +Now, it had rained the day before and in a hollow beside the path was +a puddle several inches deep. Dan, Junior, lost his balance, staggered +back, tripped over his own clumsy heels, and splashed full length into +it. + +“Oh, oh!” he bawled, managing to get well soaked before he scrambled +out. “I'll tell my father on you, Hi Strong. You'll catch it for this!” + +“You'd better run home before you catch cold,” said Hiram, who could not +help laughing at the young rascal's plight. “And let girls alone another +time.” + +To himself he said: “Well, the goodness knows I couldn't be much more +in bad odor with Mr. Dwight than I am already. But this escapade of his +precious son ought to about 'fix' me, as Dan, Junior, says. + +“Whether I want to, or not, I reckon I will be looking for another job +in a very few days.” + + + +CHAPTER II. AT MRS. ATTERSON'S + +When you came into “Mother” Atterson's front hall (the young men +boarders gave her that appellation in irony) the ghosts of many ancient +boiled dinners met you with--if you were sensitive and unused to the +odors of cheap boarding houses--a certain shock. + +He was starting up the stairs, on which the ragged carpet threatened to +send less agile persons than Mrs. Atterson's boarders headlong to +the bottom at every downward trip, when the clang of the gong in the +dining-room announced the usual cold spread which the landlady thought +due to her household on the first day of the week. + +Hiram hesitated, decided that he would skip the meal, and started up +again. But just then Fred Crackit lounged out of the parlor, with Mr. +Peebles following him. Dyspeptic as he was, Mr. Peebles never missed a +meal himself, and Crackit said: + +“Come on, Hi-Low-Jack! Aren't you coming down to the usual feast of +reason and flow of soul?” + +Crackit thought he was a natural humorist, and he had to keep up his +reputation at all times and seasons. He was rather a dissipated-looking +man of thirty years or so, given to gay waistcoats and wonderfully knit +ties. A brilliant as large as a hazel-nut--and which, in some lights, +really sparkled like a diamond--adorned the tie he wore this evening. + +“I don't believe I want any supper,” responded Hiram, pleasantly. + +“What's the matter? Got some inside information as to what Mother +Atterson has laid out for us? You're pretty thick with the old girl, +Hi.” + +“That's not a nice way to speak of her, Mr. Crackit,” said Hi, in a low +voice. + +The other boarders--those who were in the house-straggled into the +basement dining-room one after the other, and took their places at the +long table, each in his customary manner. + +That dining-room at Mother Atterson's never could have been a cheerful +place. It was long, and low-ceiled, and the paper on the walls was +a dingy red, so old that the figure on it had retired into the +background--been absorbed by it, so to speak. + +The two long, dusty, windows looked upon an area, and were grilled half +way up by wrought-iron screens which, too, helped to shut out the light +of day. + +The long table was covered by a red figured table cloth. The “castors” + at both ends and in the middle were the ugliest--Hiram was sure--to be +found in all the city of Crawberry. The crockery was of the coarsest +kind. The knives and forks were antediluvian. The napkins were as coarse +as huck towels. + +But Mrs. Atterson's food--considering the cost of provisions and the +charge she made for her table--was very good. Only it had become a habit +for certain of the boarders, led by the jester, Crackit, to criticise +the viands. + +Sometimes they succeeded in making Mrs. Atterson angry; and sometimes, +Hiram knew, she wept, alone in the dining-room, after the harumscarum, +thoughtless crowd had gone. + +Old Lem Camp--nobody save Hiram thought to put “Mr.” before the old +gentleman's name--sidled in and sat down beside the country boy, as +usual. He was a queer, colorless sort of person--a man who never looked +into the face of another if he could help it. He would look all around +Hiram when he spoke to him--at his shoulder, his shirtfront, his hands, +even at his feet if they were visible, but never at his face. + +And at the table he kept up a continual monologue. It was difficult +sometimes for Hiram to know when he was being addressed, and when poor +Mr. Camp was merely talking to himself. + +“Let's see--where has Sister put my napkin--Oh! here it is--You've been +for a walk, have you, young man?--No, that's not my napkin; I didn't +spill any gravy at dinner--Nice day out, but raw--Goodness me! can't I +have a knife and fork?--Where's my knife and fork?--Sister certainly has +forgotten my knife and fork.--Oh! Here they are--Yes, a very nice day +indeed for this time of year.” + +And so on. It was quite immaterial to Mr. Camp whether he got an answer +to his remarks to Hiram, or not. He went on muttering to himself, all +through the meal, sometimes commenting upon what the others said at the +table--and that quite shrewdly, Hiram noticed; but the other boarders +considered him a little cracked. + +Sister smiled sheepishly at Hiram as she passed the tea. She drowned +his tea with milk and put in no less than four spoonfuls of sugar. But +although the fluid was utterly spoiled for Hiram's taste he drank it +with fortitude, knowing that the girl's generosity was the child of her +gratitude; for both sugar and milk were articles very scantily supplied +at Mother Atterson's table. + +The mistress herself did not appear. Now that he was down here in the +dining-room, Hiram lingered. He hated the thought of going up to his +lonely and narrow quarters at the top of the house. + +The other boarders trailed out of the room and up stairs, one after +another, Old Lem Camp being the last to go. Sister brought in a dish of +hot toast between two plates and set it at the upper end of the table. +Then Mrs. Atterson appeared. + +Hiram knew at once that something had gone wrong with the boarding +house mistress. She had been crying, and when a woman of the age of Mrs. +Atterson indulges in tears, her personal appearance is never improved. + +“Oh, that you, Hi?” she drawled, with a snuffle. “Did you get enough to +eat?” + +“Yes, Mrs. Atterson,” returned the youth, starting to get up. “I have +had plenty.” + +“I'm glad you did,” said the lady. “And you're easy 'side of most of +'em, Hiram. You're a real good boy.” + +“I reckon I get all I pay for, Mrs. Atterson,” said her youngest +boarder. + +“Well, there ain't many of 'em would say that. And they was awful +provokin' this noon. That roast of veal was just as good meat as I could +find in market; and I don't know what any sensible party would want +better than that prune pie. + +“Well! I hope I won't have to keep a boarding house all my life. It's a +thankless task. An' it ties a body down so. + +“Here's my uncle--my poor mother's only brother and about the only +relative I've got in the world--here's Uncle Jeptha down with the grip, +or suthin', and goodness knows if he'll ever get over it. And I can't +leave to go and see him die peaceable.” + +“Does he live far from here?” asked Hiram, politely, although he had no +particular reason for being interested in Uncle Jeptha. + +“He lives on a farm out Scoville way. He's lived there most all his +life. He used to make a right good living off'n that farm, too; but it's +run down some now. + +“The last time I was out there, two years ago, he was just keepin' along +and that's all. And now I expect he's dying, without a chick or child +of his own by him,” and she burst out crying again, the tears sprinkling +the square of toast into which she continued to bite. + +Of course, it was ridiculous. A middle-aged woman weeping and eating +toast and drinking strong boiled tea is not a romantic picture. But as +Hiram climbed to his room he wished with all his heart that he could +help Mrs. Atterson. + +He wasn't the only person in the world who seemed to have got into +a wrong environment--lots of people didn't fit right into their +circumstances in life. + +“We're square pegs in round holes--that's what we are,” mused Hiram. +“That's what I am. I wish I was out of it. I wish I was back on the +farm.” + + + +CHAPTER III. A DREARY DAY + +Daniel Dwight's Emporium, the general store was called, and it was in a +very populous part of the town of Crawberry. Old Daniel was a driver, he +seldom had clerks enough to handle his trade properly, and nobody could +suit him. As general helper and junior clerk, Hiram Strong had remained +with the concern longer than any other boy Daniel had hired in years. + +When the early Monday morning rush was over, and there was moment's +breathing space, Hiram went to the door to re-arrange the trays of +vegetables which were his particular care. Hiram had a knack of making +a bank of the most plebeian vegetable and salads look like the +display-window of a florist. + +Now the youth looked out upon a typical city street, the dwellings +on either side being four and five story tenement houses, occupied by +artisans and mechanics. + +A few quarreling children paddled sticks, or sailed chip boats, in the +gutters. + +“Come on, now! Get a move on you, Hi!” sounded the raucous voice of +Daniel Dwight the elder, behind him in the store. + +Hiram went at his task with neither interest nor energy. + +All about him the houses and the street were grimy and depressing. It +had been a gray and murky morning; but overhead a patch of sky was as +blue as June. He suddenly saw a flock of pigeons wheeling above the +tunnel of the street, and the boy's heart leaped at the sight. + +He longed for freedom. He wished he could fly, up, up, up above the +housetops and the streets, like those feathered fowl. + +He knew he was stagnating here in this dingy store; the deadly sameness +of his life chafed him sorely. + +“I'd take another job if I could find one,” he muttered, stirring up the +bunches of yellowing radish leaves and trying to make them look fresh. +“And Old Daniel is likely to give me a chance to hunt a job pretty +sudden--the way he talks. But if Dan, Junior, told him what happened +yesterday, I wonder the old gentleman hasn't been after me with a sharp +stick.” + +From somewhere--out of the far-distant open country where it had been +breathing all night the quivering pines, and brown swamps, and the +white and gray checkered fields that would soon be upturned by the +plowshares--a vagrant wind wandered into the city street. + +The lingering, but faint perfume wafted here from God's open world to +die in this man-made town inspired in the youth thoughts and desires +that had been struggling within him for expression for days past. + +“I know what I want,” said Hiram Strong, aloud. “I want to get back to +the land!” + +The progress of the day was not inducive to a hopeful outlook for +Hiram. When closing time came he was heartily sick of the business of +storekeeping, if he never had been before. + +And when he dragged himself home to the boarding house, he found the +atmosphere there as dreary as the street itself. The boarders were +grumpy and Mrs. Atterson was in a tearful state again. + +Hiram could not stay in his room. It was a narrow, cold place at the end +of the back hall at the top of the house. There was a little, painted +bureau in it, one leg of which had been replaced by a brick, and the +little glass was so blue and blurred that he never could see in it +whether his tie was straight or not. + +There was a chair, a shelf for books, and a narrow folding bed. When the +bed was dropped down for his occupancy at night, he could not get the +door open. Had there ever been a fire at Atterson's at night, Hiram's +best chance for escape would have been by the window. + +So this evening, to kill the miserable stretch of time until sleep +should come to him, the boy went out and walked the streets. + +Two things had saved Hiram Strong from getting into bad company on these +evening rambles. One was the small amount of money he earned, and the +other was the naturally clean nature of the boy. The cheap amusements +which lured on either hand did not attract him. + +But the dangers are there in every city, and they lurk for every boy in +a like position. + +The main thoroughfare in this part of the town where Hiram boarded +was brightly lighted, gaudy electric signs attracting notice to cheap +picture shows, catch-penny arcades, cheap jewelry stores, and the ever +present saloons and pool rooms. + +It looked bright, and warm, and lively in many of these places; but the +country-bred boy was cautious. + +Now and then a raucous-voiced automobile shot along the street; the +electric cars made their usual clangor, and there was still some +ordinary traffic of the day dribbling away into the side streets, for it +was early in the evening. + +Hiram was about to turn into one of these side streets on his way back +to Mrs. Atterson's. Turning the corner was a handsome span of horses +attached to a comfortable but mud-bespattered carriage. It was plainly +from the country. + +The light at the corner of the street shone brightly into the carriage. +Hiram saw a well-built man in a gray greatcoat and slouch hat, holding +the reins over the backs of the spirited horses. + +Beside him sat a girl. She could have been no more than twelve or +fourteen--not so old as Sister, by a year or two. But how different she +was from the starved-looking, boarding house slavey! + +She was framed in furs--rich, gray and black furs that muffled her +from top to toe, only leaving her brilliant, dark little face with its +perfect features shining like a jewel in its setting. + +She was talking laughingly to the big man beside her, and he was looking +down at her. Perhaps this was why he did not see what lay just ahead--or +perhaps the glare of the street light blinded him, as it must have the +horses, as the equipage turned into the darker side street. + +But Hiram saw their peril. He sprang into the street with a cry of +warning. And he was lucky enough to seize the nigh horse by the bridle +and pull both the high-steppers around. + +There was an excavation--an opening for a water-main--in this street. +The workmen had either neglected to leave a red lantern, or malicious +boys had stolen it. + +Another moment and the horses would have been in this excavation and +even now the carriage swayed. One forward wheel went over the edge of +the hole, and for the minute it was doubtful whether Hiram had saved the +occupants of the carriage by his quick action, or had accelerated the +catastrophe. + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE LOST CARD + +Had Hiram Strong not been a muscular youth for his age, and sturdy +withal, the excited horses would have broken away from him and the +carriage would certainly have gone into the ditch. + +But he had a grip on the bridle reins now that could not be broken, +although the horses plunged and struck fire from the stones of the +street with their shoes. He dragged them forward, the carriage pitched +and rolled for a moment, and then stood upright again, squarely on its +four wheels. + +“All right, lad! I've got 'em!” exclaimed the gentleman in the carriage. + +He had a hearty, husky sort of voice--a voice that came from deep down +in his chest and was more than a little hoarse. But there was no quiver +of excitement in it. Indeed, he who had been in peril was much less +disturbed by the incident than was Hiram himself. + +Nor had the girl screamed, or otherwise voiced her terror. Now Hiram +heard her say, as he stepped back from the plunging horses: + +“That is a good boy, Daddy. Speak to him again.” + +The man in gray laughed. He was now holding in the frightened team with +one firm hand while he fumbled in the pocket of his big coat with the +other. + +“He certainly has got some muscle, that lad,” announced the gentleman. +“Here, son, where can I find you when I'm in town again?” + +“I work at Dwight's Emporium,” replied Hiram, rather diffidently. + +“All right. Thanks. Here's my card. You're the kind of a boy I like. +I'll surely look you up.” + +He held out the bit of pasteboard to Hiram; but as the youth stepped +nearer to reach it, the impatient horses sprang forward and the carriage +rolled swiftly by him. + +The card flipped from the man's fingers. Hiram grabbed for it, but +missed the card. It fluttered into the excavation in the street and the +shadow hid it completely from the boy's gaze. + +Had there been a lantern nearby, as there should have been, Hiram would +have taken it to search for the lost card. For he felt suddenly as +though Opportunity had brushed past him. + +The man in the carriage evidently lived out of town. He might be a +prosperous farmer. And, being a farmer, he might be able to give Hiram +just the sort of job he was looking for. + +The card, of course, would have put Hiram in touch with the man. And he +seemed like a hearty, good-natured individual. + +“And the girl--his daughter--was as pretty as a picture,” thought Hiram, +as he turned wearily toward the boarding house. “Well! I don't know that +I'll ever see either of them again; but if I could learn that man's name +and address I'd certainly look him up.” + +So much did this thought disturb him that he was up an hour earlier than +usual the next morning and hurried to work by the way of the excavation +in the street where the incident had occurred. + +But he could not find the card, although he got down into the ditch to +search for it. The loose sand, perhaps, rattling down from the sides of +the excavation during the night, had buried the bit of pasteboard, and +Hiram went on to Dwight's Emporium more disheartened than ever. + +The work there went worse that morning. Old Daniel Dwight drove the +young fellow from one task to another. The other clerks got a minute's +time to themselves now and then; but the proprietor of the store seemed +to have his keen eyes on Hiram continually. + +There was always a slow-up in the work about ten o'clock, and Hiram had +a request to make. He asked Old Daniel for an hour off. + +“An hour off--with all this work to do? What do you mean, boy?” roared +the proprietor. “What do you want an hour for?” + +“I've got an errand,” replied Hiram, quietly. + +“Well, what is it?” snarled the old man, curiously. + +“Why--it's a private matter. I can't tell you,” returned the youth, +coolly. + +“No good, I'll be bound--no good. I don't see why I should let you off +an hour----” + +“I work many an hour overtime for you, Mr. Dwight,” put in Hiram. + +“Yes, yes; that's all right. That's the agreement. You knew you'd have +to when you came to work at the Emporium. Stick to your contract, boy.” + +“Then why don't you stick to yours?” demanded the youth, boldly. + +“Eh! Eh! What do you mean by that?” cried Mr. Dwight, glaring at Hiram +through his spectacles. + +“I mean that when I came to work for you seven months ago, you promised +that, if I suited after six months, you would raise my wages. And you +haven't done so,” said the young fellow, firmly. + +For a moment the proprietor of the Emporium was dumb. It was true. He +had promised just that. He had got the boy cheaper by so doing. But +never before had he hired a boy who stayed as long as six months, so he +had never had to raise his wages. + +“Well, well!” + +He stammered for a moment; then a shrewd thought came to his mind. +He actually smiled. When Mr. Dwight smiled it was worse than when he +didn't. + +“I told you that if you suited me I'd raise your pay, did I?” he +snarled. “Well, you don't suit me. You never have suited me. Therefore, +you get no raise, young man.” + +Hiram was not astonished; he was only indignant. Another boy might have +expressed his anger by flaring up and tendering his resignation on the +spot. + +But Hiram had that fear of debt in his breast which is almost always a +characteristic of the frugal, country-bred person. He had saved little. +He had no prospect of another job. And every Saturday night he was +expected to pay Mrs. Atterson three dollars and a half. + +“At any rate, Mr. Dwight,” he said, quietly, after a minute's silence, +“I want an hour to myself this morning.” + +“And I'll dock ye ten cents for it,” declared the old man. + +“You can do as you like about that,” returned Hiram, and he walked into +the back room, took off his apron, and got into his coat. + +He had it in mind to go to the big market, where the farmers drove in +from out of town, and see if he could meet one of his old neighbors, +or anybody else who could tell him of prospect of work for the coming +season. It was early yet for farmers to be looking for extra hands; but +Hiram hoped that he might see something in prospect for the future. He +had made up his mind that, if possible, he would not take another job in +town. + +“And I can see pretty plainly that I've got about through at the +Emporium,” he thought, as he approached the open space devoted by the +City of Crawberry to a market for the truckmen and farmers who drove in +with their wares from the surrounding country. + +At this time of day the bustle of market was over. The farmers would +have had their breakfasts in the little restaurants which encircled the +market-place, or would be preparing to drive home again. The hucksters +and push-cart merchants were picking up “seconds” and lot-ends of +vegetables for their trade. The cobbles of the market-place was a litter +of cabbage leaves, spilled sprouts, spoiled potatoes, and other refuse. + +Hiram walked about, looking for somebody whom he knew; but most of the +faces around the market were strange to him. Several farmers he spoke to +about work; but they were not hiring hands, so, when his hour was up, he +went back to the Emporium, more despondent than before. + + + +CHAPTER V. THE COMMOTION AT MOTHER ATTERSON'S + +By chance that evening Hiram got home to his boarding house in good +season. The early boarders--“early birds” Crackit always termed +them--had not yet sat down to the long table in the dingy dining-room. + +Indeed, the supper gong had not been pounded by Sister, and some of the +young men were grouped impatiently in the half-lighted parlor. + +Through the swinging door into the steaming kitchen Hiram saw a huge +black woman waddling about the range, and heard her husky voice berating +Sister for not moving faster. Chloe only appeared when a catastrophe +happened at the boarding-house--and a catastrophe meant the removal of +Mrs. Atterson from her usual orbit. + +“She's gone to the funeral. That Uncle Jeptha of hern is dead,” + whispered Sister in Hiram's ear when she put his soup in front of him. + +“Ah-ha!” observed Mr. Crackit, eyeing Hiram with his head on one side, +“secrets, eh? Inside information of what's in the pudding sauce?” + +Nothing went right at the boarding-house during the next two days. And +for Hiram Strong nothing seemed to go right anywhere! + +He demanded--and got the permission, with another ten-cent tax--another +hour off to visit the market. But he found nobody who would hire a boy +at once. Some of the farmers doubted if he knew as much about farm-work +as he claimed to know. He was, after all, a boy, and some of them would +not believe that he had even worked in the country. + +Affairs at the Emporium were getting strained, too. Daniel Dwight was as +shrewd a man as the next one. He saw plainly that his junior clerk was +getting ready--like the many who had gone before him--for a flitting. + +He knew the signs of discontent, although Hiram prided himself on doing +his work just as well as ever. + +Then, there was a squabble with Dan, Junior. The imp was always +underfoot on Saturdays. He was supposed to help--to run errands, and +take out in a basket certain orders to nearby customers who might be in +a hurry. + +But usually when you wanted the boy he was in the alley pitching buttons +with loafing urchins of his own kind--“alley rats” his father angrily +called them--or leading a predatory gang of the same unsavory companions +in raids on other stores in the neighborhood. + +And Dan, Junior “had it in” for Hiram. He had not forgiven the bigger +boy for pitching him into the puddle. + +“An' them was my best clo'es, and now maw says I've got to wear 'em just +the same on Sunday, and they're shrunk and stained,” snarled the younger +Dan, hovering about Hiram as the latter re-dressed the fruit stand +during a moment's let-up in the Saturday morning rush. “Gimme an +orange.” + +“What! At five cents apiece?” exclaimed Hiram. “Guess not. Go look in +the basket under the bench; maybe there's a specked one there.” + +“Nope. Dad took 'em all home last night and maw cut out the specks and +sliced 'em for supper. Gimme a good orange.” + +“Ask your father,” said Hiram. + +“Naw, I won't!” declared young Dwight, knowing very well what his +father's answer would be. + +He suddenly made a grab for the golden globe on the apex of Hiram's +handsomest pyramid. + +“Let that alone, Dan!” cried Hiram, and seized the youngster by the +wrist. + +Dan, Junior, was a wiry little scamp, and he twisted and turned, and +kicked and squalled, and Hiram was just wrenching the orange from his +hand when Mr. Dwight came to the door. + +“What's this? What's this?” he demanded. “Fighting, are ye? Why don't +you tackle a fellow of your own size, Hi Strong?” + +At that Dan, Junior, saw his chance and broke into woeful sobs. He was a +good actor. + +“I've a mind to turn you over to a policeman, Hiram,” cried “Mr. Dwight, +That's what I've a mind to do.” + +“I suppose you'll discharge me first, won't you?” suggested Hiram, +scornfully. + +“You can come in and git your money right now, young man,” said the +proprietor of the Emporium. “Dan! let them oranges alone. And don't you +go away from here. I'll want you all day to-day. I shall be short-handed +with this young scalawag leaving me in the lurch like this.” + +It had come so suddenly that Hiram almost lost his breath. He had part +of his wish, that was sure. He was not likely to work for Daniel Dwight +any longer. + +The old man led the way back to his office. He had a little pile of +money already counted out upon the desk. It was plain that he had +intended quarreling with Hiram and getting rid of him at this time, +for he had the young fellow's wages figured up to t hat very hour--and +twenty cents deducted for the two hours Hiram had had “off.” + +“But that isn't fair. I'm willing to work to the end of the day. I ought +to get my wages in full for the week, save for the twenty cents,” said +Hiram mildly. + +To tell the truth, now that he had lost his job--unpleasant as it had +been--Hiram was more than a little troubled. He was indeed about to be +cast adrift. + +“You'll git jest that sum, and not a cent more,” declared Mr. Dwight, +sharply. “And if you start any trouble here I'll call in the officer on +the beat--yes, I will! I don't know but I ought to deduct the cost of +Dan, Junior's, spoiled suit, too. He says you an' he was skylarkin' on +Sunday and that's how he fell into the water.” + +Hiram had no answer to make to this. What was the use? He took the +money, slipped it into his pocket, and went out. + +He did not linger around the Emporium. Nor was he scarcely out of sight +when a man driving a span of handsome bay horses halted his team before +the store, jumped out, and went in. + +“Are you the proprietor of Dwight's Emporium?” asked the man in the +gray coat and hat, in his hearty tones. “You are? Glad to meet you! I'm +looking for a young man who works for you.” + +“Who's that? What do you want of him?” asked Dan, Senior, doubtfully, +and rubbing his hand, for the stranger's grip had been as hearty as his +voice. + +The other laughed in his jovial way. “Why, to tell the truth, I don't +know his name. I didn't ask him. He's not much more than a boy--a sturdy +youngster with a quick way with him. He did me a service the other +evening and I wanted to see him.” + +“There ain't any boy working here,” snapped Mr. Dwight. “Them's all +the clerks I got behind the counter--and there ain't one of 'em under +thirty, I'll be bound.” + +“That's so,” admitted the stranger. “And although it was so dark I could +not see that fellow's face, and I didn't ask his name, I am sure he was +young.” + +“I jest discharged the only boy I had--and scamp enough he was,” snarled +Mr. Dwight. “If you were looking for him, you'd have been sorry to find +him. I didn't know but I'd have to send for a policeman to git him off +the premises.” + +“What--what?” + +“That's what I tell you. He was a bad egg. Mebbe he's the boy you +want--but you won't get no good of him when you find him. And I've no +idea where he's to be found now,” and the old man turned his back on the +man in the gray coat and went into his office. + +The stranger climbed back into his buggy and took up the lines again +with a preoccupied headshake. + +“Now, I promised Lettie,” he muttered, “that I'd find out all about that +boy--and maybe bring him home with me. Funny that man gave his such +a bad character. Wish I could have seen the lad's face the other +night--that would have told the story. + +“Well,” and he dismissed the matter with a sigh, for he was busy man, +“if he's got my card, and he is out of a job, perhaps he'll look me up. +Then we'll see.” + + + +CHAPTER VI. THIS DIDN'T GET BY HIRAM + +“I've sure got plenty of time now to look for a job,” observed Hiram +Strong when he was two blocks away from Dwight's Emporium. “But I +declare I don't know where to begin.” + +For his experience in talking with the farmers around the market had +rather dashed Hiram's hope of getting a place in the country at once. It +was too early in the season. Nor did it look so much like Spring as it +had a week ago. Already Hiram had to turn up the collar of his rough +coat, and a few flakes of snow were settling on his shoulders as he +walked. + +“It's winter yet,” he mused. “If I can't get something to do in the +city for a few weeks to tide me over, I'm afraid I shall have to find a +cheaper place to board than at Mother Atterson's.” + +After half an hour of strolling from street to street, however, Hiram +decided that there was nothing in that game. He must break in somewhere, +so he turned into the very next warehouse. + +“Want a job? I'll be looking for one myself pretty soon, if business +isn't better,” was the answer he got from the first man he approached. + +But Hiram kept at it, and got short answers and long answers, pleasant +ones and some that were not so pleasant; but all could be summed up in +the single monosyllable: + +“No!” + +“I certainly am a failure here in town,” Hiram thought, as he walked +through the snow-blown streets. “How foolish I was ever to have come +away from the country. + +“A fellow ought to stick to the job he is fitted for--and that's sure. +But I didn't know. I thought there would be forty chances in town to one +in the country. + +“And there doesn't seem to be a single chance right now. Why, I'll have +to leave Mrs. Atterson's, if I can't find a job before next week is out! + +“This mean old town is over-crowded with fellows like me looking for +work. And when it comes to office positions, I haven't a high-school +diploma, nor am I fitted for that kind of a job. + +“I want to be out of doors. Working in a stuffy office wouldn't suit me. +Oh, as a worker in the city I am a rank failure, and that's all there is +about it!” + +He went home to supper much more tired than he would have been had he +done a full day's work at Dwight's Emporium. Indeed, the job he had lost +now loomed up in his troubled mind as much more important than it had +seemed when he had desired to change it for another. + +Mother Atterson was at home. She hadn't more than taken off her bonnet, +however, and had had but a single clash with Chloe in the kitchen. + +“I smelled it burnin' the minute I set my foot on the front step!” + she declared. “You can't fool my nose when it comes to smelling burned +stuff. + +“Well, Hiram,” she continued, too full of news to remark that he was at +home long before his time, “I saw the poor old soul laid away, at least. +I wish now I'd got Chloe in before, and gone to see Uncle Jeptha before +he was in his coffin. + +“But I didn't think I could afford it, and that's a fact. We poor folks +can't have many pleasures in this world of toil and trouble!” added +the boarding house mistress, to whom even the break of a funeral, or a +death-bed visit, was in the nature of a solemn amusement. + +“And there the old man went and made his will years ago, unbeknownst to +anybody, and me bein' his only blood relation, as you might say, though +it was years since I seen him much, but he remembered my mother with +love,” and she began to wipe her eyes. + +“Poor old man! And me with a white-faced cow that I'm afraid of my life +of, and an old horse that looks like a moth-eaten hide trunk we to +have in our garret at home when I was a little girl, and belonged to my +great-great-grandmother Atterson---- + +“And there's a mess of chickens that eat all day long and don't lay an +egg as far as I could see, besides a sow and a litter of six pigs that +squeal worse than the the switch-engine down yonder in the freight +yard---- + +“And they're all to be fed, and how I'm to do it, and feed the boarders, +too, I don't for the life of me see!” finished Mrs. Atterson, completely +out of breath. + +“What do you mean?” cried Hiram, suddenly waking to the significance of +the old lady's chatter. “Do you mean he willed you these things?” + +“Of course,” she returned, smoothing down her best black skirt. “They +go with the house and outbuildings--`all the chattels and appurtenances +thereto', the will read.” + +“Why, Mrs. Atterson!” gasped Hiram. “He must have left you the farm.” + +“That's what I said,” returned the old lady, complacently. “And what I'm +to do with it I've no more idea than the man in the moon.” + +“A farm!” repeated Hiram, his face flushing and his eyes beginning to +shine. + +Now, Hiram Strong was not a particularly handsome youth, but in his +excitement he almost looked so. + +“Eighty acres, so many rods, and so many perches,” pursued Mrs. +Atterson, nodding. “That's the way it reads. The perches is in the +henhouse, I s'pose--though why the description included them and not the +hens' nests I dunno.” + +“Eighty acres of land!” repeated Hiram in a daze. + +“All free and clear. Not a dollar against it--only encumbrances is the +chickens, the cow, the horse and the pigs,” declared Mrs. Atterson. “If +it wasn't for them it might not be so bad. Scoville's an awfully nice +place, and the farm's on an automobile road. A body needn't go blind +looking for somebody to go by the door occasionally. + +“And if it got so bad here finally that I couldn't make a livin' keeping +boarders,” pursued the lady, “I might go out there and live in the old +house--which isn't much, I know, but it's a shelter, and my tastes are +simple, goodness knows.” + +“But a farm, Mrs. Atterson!” broke in Hiram. “Think what you can do with +it!” + +“That's what I'd like to have, you, or somebody else tell me,” exclaimed +the old lady, tartly. “I ain't got no more use for a farm than a cat has +for two tails!” + +“But--but isn't it a good farm?” queried Hiram, puzzled. + +“How do I know?” snapped the boarding house mistress. “I wouldn't know +one farm from another, exceptin' two can't be in exactly the same spot. +Oh! do you mean, could I sell it?” + +“No----” + +“The lawyer advised me not to sell just now. He said something about the +state of the real estate market in that section. Prices would be better +in a year or two. And then, the old place is mighty run down.” + +“That's what I mean,” Hiram hastened to say. “Has it been cropped to +death? Is the soil worn out? Can't you run it and make something out of +it?” + +“For pity's sake!” ejaculated the good lady, “how should I know? And I +couldn't run it--I shouldn't know how. + +“I've got a neighbor-woman in the house just now to 'tend to things--and +that's costin' me a dollar and a half a week. And there'll be taxes to +pay, and--and--Well, I just guess I'll have to try and sell it now and +take what I can get. + +“Though that lawyer says that if the place was fixed up a little and +crops put in it would make a thousand dollars' difference in the selling +price. That is, after a year or two. + +“But bless us and save us” cried Mrs. Atterson, “I'd be swamped with +expenses before that time.” + +“Mebbe not,” said Hiram Strong, trying to repress his eagerness. “Why +not try it?” + +“Try to run that farm?” cried she. “Why, I'd jest as lief go up in one +o' those aeroplanes and try to run it. I wouldn't be no more up in the +air then than I would be on a farm,” she added, grimly. + +“Get somebody to run it for you--do the outside work, I mean, Mrs. +Atterson,” said Hiram. “You could keep house out there just as well as +you do here. And it would be easy for you to learn to milk----” + +“That whitefaced cow? My goodness! I'd just as quick learn to milk a +switch-engine!” + +“But it's only her head that looks so wicked to you,” laughed Hiram. +“And you don't milk that end.” + +“Well--mebbe,” admitted Mrs. Atterson, doubtfully. “I reckon I could +make butter again--I used to do that when I was a girl at my aunt's. And +either I'd make those hens lay or I'd have their dratted heads off! + +“And my goodness me! To get rid of the boarders--Oh, stop your talkin', +Hi Strong! That is too good to ever be true. Don't talk to me no more.” + +“But I want to talk to you, Mrs. Atterson,” persisted the youth, +eagerly. + +“Well, who'd I get to do the outside work--put in crops, and 'tend 'em, +and look out for that old horse?” + +Hiram almost choked. This opportunity should not get past him if he +could help it! + +“Let me do it, Mrs. Atterson. Give me a chance to show you what I can +do,” he cried. “Let me run the farm for you!” + +“Why--why do you suppose that it could be made to pay us, Hi?” demanded +his landlady, in wonder. + +“Other farms pay; why not this one?” rejoined Hiram, sententiously. “Of +course,” he added, his native caution coming to the surface, “I'd want +to see the place--to look it over pretty well, in fact--before I made +any agreement. And I can assure you, Mrs. Atterson, if I saw no chance +of both you and me making something out of it I should tell you so.” + +“But--but your job, Hiram? And I wouldn't approve of your going out +there and lookin' at the place on a Sunday.” + +“I'll take the early train Monday morning,” said the youth, promptly. + +“But what will they say at the store? Mr. Dwight----” + +“He turned me off to-day,” said Hiram, steadily. “So I won't lose +anything by going out there. + +“I tell you what I'll do,” he added briskly. “I won't have any too much +money while I'm out of a job, of course. And I shall be out there at +Scoville a couple of days looking the place over, it's probable. + +“So, if you will let me keep this three dollars and a half I should +pay you for my next week's board to-night, I'll pay my own expenses out +there at the farm and if nothing comes of it, all well and good.” + +Mrs. Atterson had fumbled for her spectacles and now put them on to +survey the boy's earnest face. + +“Do you mean to say you can run a farm, Hi Strong?” she asked. + +“I do,” and he smiled confidently at her. + +“And make it pay?” + +“Perhaps not much profit the first season; but if the farm is fertile, +and the marketing conditions are right, I know I can make it pay us both +in two years.” + +“I've got a little money saved up. I could sell the house in a week, for +it's always full and there are always lone women like me with a little +driblet of money to exchange for a boarding house--heaven help us for +the fools we are!” Mrs. Atterson exclaimed. + +“And I expect you could raise vegetables enough to part keep us, Hi, +even if the farm wasn't a great success?” + +“And eggs, and chickens, and the pigs, and milk from the cow,” suggested +Hiram. + +“Well! I declare, that's so,” admitted Mrs. Atterson. “I'd been lookin' +on all them things as an expense. They could be made an asset, eh?” + +“I should hope so,” responded Hiram, smiling. + +“And I could get rid of these boarders--My soul and body!” gasped +the tired woman, suddenly. “Do you suppose it's true, Hi? Get rid of +worryin' about paying the bills, and whether the boarders are all going +to keep their jobs and be able to pay regularly--And the gravy! + +“Hiram Strong! If you can show me a way out of this valley of +tribulation I'll be the thankfullest woman that you ever seen. It's a +bargain. Don't you pay me a cent for this coming week. And I shouldn't +have taken it, anyway, when you're throwed out of work so. That's a +mighty mean man, that Daniel Dwight. + +“You go right ahead and look that farm over. If it looks good, you come +back and we'll strike a bargain, I know. And--and--Just to think +of getting rid of this house and these boarders!” and Mrs. Atterson +finished by wiping her eyes again vigorously. + + + +CHAPTER VII. HOW HIRAM LEFT TOWN + +Hiram Strong was up betimes on Monday morning--Sister saw to that. She +rapped on his door at four-thirty. + +Sometimes Hiram wondered when the girl ever slept. She was still +dragging about the kitchen or dining-room when he went to bed, and she +was first down in the morning--even earlier than Mrs. Atterson herself. + +The boarding house mistress was not intentionally severe with Sister; +but the much harassed lady had never learned to make her own work easy, +so how should she be expected to be easy on Sister? + +Once or twice Hiram had talked with the orphan. Sister had a dreadful +fear of returning to the “institution” from which Mrs. Atterson had +taken her. And Sister's other fearful remembrance was of an old woman +who beat her and drank much gin and water. + +Not that she had been ill-treated at the institution; but she had been +dressed in an ugly uniform, and the girls had been rough and pulled her +“pigtails” like Dan, Junior. + +“Once a gentleman came to see me,” Sister confided to Hiram. “He was +a lawyer gentleman, the matron told me. He knew my name--but I've +forgotten it now. + +“And he said that somebody who once belonged to me--or I once belonged +to them--had died and perhaps there would be some money coming to me. +But it couldn't have been the old woman I lived with, for she never had +only money enough for gin! + +“Anyhow, I was glad. I axed him how much money--was it enough to treat +all the girls in the institution one round of ice-cream soda, and he +laffed, he did. And he said yes--just about enough for that, if he could +get it for me. And I ran away and told the girls. + +“I promised them all a treat. But the man never came again, and by and +by the big girls said they believed I storied about it, and one night +they came and dragged me out of bed and hung me out of the window by my +wrists, till I thought my arms would be pulled right out of the sockets. +They was awful cruel--them girls. But when I axed the matron why the +man didn't come no more, she put me off. I guess he was only +foolin',” decided Sister, with a sigh. “Folks like to fool me--like Mr. +Crackit--eh?” + +But Mrs. Atterson told Hiram, when he asked about Sister's meagre little +story, that the institution had promised to let her know if the lawyer +ever returned to make further inquiries about the orphan. Somebody +really had died who was of kin to the girl, but through some error the +institution had not made a proper record of her pedigree and the lawyer +who had instituted the search a seemed to have dropped out of sight. + +But Hiram was not troubled by poor Sister's private affairs upon this +Monday morning. It was the beginning of a new week, indeed, to him. He +had turned over a new leaf of experience. He hoped that he was pretty +near to the end of his harsh city existence. + +He hurried downstairs, long in advance of the other boarders, and Mrs. +Atterson served him some breakfast, although there was no milk for the +coffee. + +“I dunno where that plague o' my life, Sister's, gone,” sputtered the +old lady, fussing about, between dining-room and kitchen. “I sent her +out ten minutes ago for the milk. And if you want to get that first +train to Scoville you've got to hurry.” + +“Never mind the milk,” laughed the young fellow. “The train's more +important this morning.” + +So he bolted the remainder of his breakfast, swallowed the black coffee, +and ran out. + +He arrived at Scoville while the morning was still young. It was not his +intention to go at once to the Atterson farm. There were matters which +he desired to look into in addition to judging the quality of the soil +on the place and the possibility of making it pay. + +He went to the storekeepers and asked questions about the prices paid +for garden truck. He walked about the town and saw the quality of +the residences, and noted what proportion of the townsfolk cultivated +gardens of their own. + +There was a big girls' boarding-school, and two small, but +well-patronized hotels. The proprietors of these each owned a farm; +but they told Hiram that it was necessary for them to buy much of their +table vegetables from city produce men, as the neighboring farmers did +not grow much. + +In talking with one storekeeper Hiram mentioned the fact that he was +going to look at the Atterson place with a view to farming it for its +new owner. When he walked out of the store he found himself accosted +by a lean, snaky-looking man who had stood within the store the moment +before. + +“What's this widder woman goin' to do with the farm old Jeptha left +her?” inquired the man, looking at Hiram slyly. + +“We don't know yet, sir, what we shall do with it,” the young fellow +replied. + +“You her son?” + +“No. I may work for her--can't tell till I've looked at the place.” + +“It ain't much to look at,” said the man, quickly. “I come near buying +it once, though. In fact--” + +He hesitated, still eyeing Hiram sideways. The boy waited for him to +speak again. He did not wish to be impolite; but he did not like the +man's appearance. + +“What do y' reckon this Mis' Atterson would sell for?” finally demanded +the man. + +“She has been advised not to sell--at present.” + +“Who by?” + +“Mr. Strickland, the lawyer.” + +“Humph! Mebbe I'd buy it--and give her a good price for it--right now.” + +“What do you consider a good price?” asked Hiram, quietly. + +“Twelve hundred dollars,” said the man. + +“I will tell her. But I do not think she would sell for that +price--nothing like it, in fact.” + +“Well, mebbe she'll feel different when she comes to think it over. +No use for a woman trying to run a farm. And if she has to pay for +everything to be done, she'll be in a hole at the end of the season. I +guess she ain't thought of that?” + +“It wouldn't be my place to point it out to her,” returned Hiram, +“coolly, if it were so, and I wanted to work for her.” + +“Humph! Mebbe not. Well, my name's Pepper. Mebbe I'll be out to see her +some day,” he said, and turned away. + +“He's one of the people who will discourage Mrs. Atterson,” thought +Hiram. “And he has an axe to grind. If I decide to take the job of +making this farm pay, I'm going to have the agreement in black and +white with Mrs. Atterson; for there will be a raft of Job's comforters, +perhaps when we get settled on the place.” + +It was late in the afternoon before Hiram was ready to start for the +farm itself. He had made some enquiries, and had decided to stop at a +neighbor's for overnight, instead of going to the house where a lone +woman had been left in charge by Mrs. Atterson. + +The Pollocks had been recommended to Hiram, and by leaving the road +within half a mile of the Atterson farm, and cutting across the fields, +he came into the dooryard of the Pollock place. A well-grown boy, not +much older than himself, was splitting some chunks at the woodpile. He +stopped work to gaze at the visitor with much curiosity. + +“From what they told me in town,” Hi said, holding out his hand with a +smile, “you must be Henry Pollock?” + +The boy blushed, but awkwardly took and shook Hi's hand. + +“That's what they call me--Henry Pollock--when they don't call me Hen.” + +“Well, I'll make a bargain with you, Henry,” laughed Hiram. “I don't +like to have my name cut off short, either. My name's Hiram Strong. So +if you'll agree to always call me `Hiram' I'll always call you `Henry.'” + +“It's a go!” returned the other, shaking hands again. “You going to live +around here? Or are you jest visiting?” + +“I don't know yet,” confessed Hiram, sitting down beside the boy. “You +see, I've come out to look at the Atterson place.” + +“That's right over yonder. You can see the roof if you stand up,” said +Henry, quickly. + +Hiram stood up and, in the light of the early sunset, he caught a +glimpse of the roof in question. + +“Your folks going to buy it of the old lady Uncle Jeptha left it to?” + asked Henry, with pardonable curiosity. “Or are you going to rent it?” + +“What do you think of renting it?” queried Hiram, showing that he had +Yankee blood in him by answering one question with another. + +“Well--it's pretty well run down, and that's a fact. The old man +couldn't do much the last few years, and them Dickersons who farmed it +for him ain't no great shakes of farmers, now I tell you!” + +“Well, I want to look the farm over before I decide what I'll do,” said +Hiram, slowly. “And of course I can't do that to-night. They told me in +town that sometimes you take boarders?” + +“In the summer we do,” returned Henry. + +“Do you think your folks will put me up overnight?” + +“Why, I reckon so--Hiram Strong, did you say your name was? Come right +in,” added Henry, hospitably, “and I'll ask mother.” + + + +CHAPTER VIII. THE LURE OF GREEN FIELDS + +The Pollocks proved to be a neighborly family--and a large one. As Henry +said, there was a “whole raft of young 'uns” younger than he was. They +made Hiram very welcome at the supper table, and showed much curiosity +about his personal affairs. + +But the young fellow had been used to just such people before. They were +not a bad sort, and if they were keenly interested in the affairs of +other people, it was because they had few books and newspapers, and +small chance to amuse themselves in the many ways which city people +have. + +Hiram slept with Henry that night, and Henry agreed to show the visitor +over the Atterson place the next day. + +“I know every stick and stone of it as well as I do ourn,” declared +Henry. “And Dad won't mind my taking time now. Later--Whew! I tell you, +we hafter just git up an' dust to make a crop. Not much chance for fun +after a week or two until the corn's laid by.” + +“You know all the boundaries of the Atterson farm, do you?” Hiram asked. + +“Yes, sir!” replied Henry, eagerly. “And say! do you like to fish?” + +“Of course; who doesn't?” + +“Then we'll take some lines and hooks along--and mother'll lend us a pan +and kettle. Say! We'll start early--'fore anybody's a-stir--and I bet +there'll be a big trout jumping in the pool under the big sycamore.” + +“That certain-sure sounds good to me!” cried Hiram, enthusiastically. + +So it was agreed, and before day, while the mist was yet rolling across +the fields, and the hedge sparrows were beginning to chirp, the two set +forth from the Pollock place, crossed the wet fields, and the road, and +set off down the slope of a long hill, following, as Henry said, near +the east boundary of the Atterson farm--the line running from the +automobile road to the river. + +It was a dull spring morning. The faint breeze that stirred on the +hillside was damp, but odorous with new-springing herbs. As Hiram +and Henry descended the aisle of the pinewood, the treetops whispered +together as though curious of these bold humans who disturbed their +solitude. + +“It doesn't look as though anybody had been here at the back end of old +Jeptha Atterson's farm for years,” said Hiram. + +“And it's a fact that nobody gets down this way often,” Henry responded. + +The brown tags sprung under their feet; now and then a dew-wet branch +swept Hiram's cheek, seeking with its cold fingers to stay his progress. +It was an enchanted forest, and the boy, heart-hungry from his two years +of city life, was enchanted, too! + +Hiram learned from talking with his companion that at one time the +piece of thirty-year-old timber they were walking through had been +tilled--after a fashion. But it had never been properly cleared, as the +hacked and ancient stumpage betrayed. + +Here and there the lines of corn rows which had been plowed when the +last crop was laid by were plainly revealed to Hiram's observing eye. +Where corn had grown once, it should grow again; and the pine timber +would more than pay for being cut, for blowing out the big stumps with +dynamite, and tam-harrowing the side hill. + +Finally they reached a point where the ground fell away more abruptly +and the character of the timber changed, as well. Instead of the stately +pines, this more abrupt declivity was covered with hickory and oak. The +sparse brush sprang out of rank, black mold. + +Charmed by the prospect, Hiram and Henry descended this hill and came +suddenly, through a fringe of brush, to the border of an open cove, or +bottom. + +At some time this lowland, too, had been cleared and cultivated; but now +young pines, quick-springing and lush, dotted the five or six acres of +practically open land which was as level as one's palm. + +It was two hundred yards, or more, in width and at the farther side +a hedge of alders and pussywillows grew, with the green mist of young +leaves upon them, and here and there a ghostly sycamore, stretching its +slender bole into the air, edged the course of the river. + +Hiram viewed the scene with growing delight. His eyes sparkled and +a smile came to his lips as he crossed, with springy steps, the open +meadow on which the grass was already showing green in patches. + +Between the line of the wood they had left and the breadth of the meadow +was a narrow, marshy strip into which a few stones had been cast, and on +these they crossed dry shod. The remainder of the bottom-land was firm. + +“Ain't this jest a scrumptious place?” demanded Henry, and Hiram agreed. + +At the river's edge they parted the bushes and looked down upon the +oily-flowing brown flood. It was some thirty feet broad and with the +melting of the snows in the mountains was so deep that no sign was +apparent here of the rocks which covered its bed. + +Henry led the way up the bank of the stream toward a huge sycamore that +leaned lovingly over the water. An ancient wild grape vine, its +butt four inches through and its roots fairly in the water, had a +strangle-hold upon this decrepit forest monarch, its tendrils reaching +the sycamore's topmost branch. + +Under the tree was a deep hole where flotsam leaves and twigs performed +an endless treadmill dance in the grasp of the eddy. + +Suddenly, while their gaze clung to the dimpling water, there was a +flash of a bronze body--a streak of light along the surface of the +pool--and two widening circles showed where the master of the hole had +leaped for some insect prey. + +“See him?” called Henry, but under his breath. + +Hiram nodded, but squeezed his companion's hand for silence. He almost +held his own breath for the moment, as they moved back from the pool +with the soundless step of an Indian. + +“That big feller is my meat,” declared Henry. + +“Go to it, boy!” urged Hiram, and set about preparing the camp. + +He cut with his big jack-knife and set up a tripod of green rods in a +jiffy, skirmished for dry wood, lit his fire, filled the kettle from the +river at a little distance from the eddy, and hung it over the blaze to +boil. + +Meanwhile Henry fished out a line and an envelope of hooks from an inner +pocket, cut a springy pole back on the hillside, rigged his line and +hook, and kicked a hole in the soft, rich soil until he unearthed a fat +angleworm. + +With this impaled upon the hook he cautiously approached the pool under +the sycamore and cast gently. The struggling worm sank slowly; the water +wrinkled about the line; but there followed no tug at the hook, although +Henry stood patiently for several moments. He cast again, and yet again, +with like result. + +“Ah, ba!” muttered Hiram, in his ear; “this fellow's appetite needs +tickling. He is being fed too well and turns up his nose at a common +earthworm, does he? Let me show you a wrinkle, Henry.” + +Henry drew the line ashore again and shook off the useless bait. + +“You're, not fishing,” Hiram continued with a grim smile. “You've just +been drowning a worm. But I'll show that old fellow sulking down below +there that he is no match this early in the spring for a pair of hungry +boys!” + +He recrossed the meadow, and the stepping stones, to the wood. He had +noticed a log lying in the path as he descended the hillside. With the +toe of his boot he kicked a patch of bark from the log, and thereby lay +bare the wavering trail of a busy grub. Following the trail he quickly +found the fat, juicy insect, which immediately took the earthworm's +place upon the hook. + +Again Henry cast and this time, before the grub even touched the surface +of the pool, the fish leaped and swallowed the tempting morsel, hook and +all! + +There was no playing of the fish on Henry's part. A quick jerk and the +gasping spotted beauty, a pound and a quarter, or more, in weight, lay +upon the sward beside the crackling fire. + +“Whoop-ee!” called Henry, excitedly. “That's Number One!” + +While Hiram dexterously scaled and cleaned the first trout, Henry caught +a couple more. Hiram brought forth, too, the coffee, salt and pepper, +sugar, a piece of fat salt pork and two table knives and forks. + +He raked a smooth bed in the glowing coals, sliced the pork thin, laid +some slices in the pan and set that upon the coals, where the pork began +to sputter almost at once. + +The water in the kettle was boiling and he made the coffee. Then he laid +the trout upon the pan with three slices of pork upon each, and sat +back upon his haunches beside Henry enjoying the delicious odor in +anticipation of the more solid delights of breakfast. + +They had hard crackers and with these, and drinking the coffee from +the kettle itself, when it was cool enough, the two boys feasted like +monarchs. + +“By Jo!” exclaimed Henry. “This beats maw's soda biscuit and fat meat +gravy!” + +But as he ate, Hiram's gaze traveled again and again across the +scrub-grown meadow. The lay of the land pleased him. The richness of the +soil had been revealed when they dug the earthworm. + +For thousands of years the riches of yonder hillside had been washing +down upon the bottom, and this alluvial was rich beyond computation. + +Here were several acres, the young farmer knew, which, however +over-cropped the remainder of Uncle Jeptha's land had been, could not be +impoverished in many seasons. + +“It's as rich as cream!” muttered he, thoughtfully. “Grubbing out these +young pines wouldn't take long. There's a heavy sod and it would have +to be ploughed deeply. Then a crop of corn this year, perhaps--late corn +for fear the river might overflow it in June. And then---- + +“Great Scot!” ejaculated Hiram, slapping his knee, “what wouldn't grow +on this bottom land?” + +“Yes, it's mighty rich,” agreed Henry. “But it's a long way from the +house--and then, the river might flood it over. I've seen water running +over this bottom two feet deep--once.” + +They finished the al fresco meal and Hiram leaped up, inspired by his +thoughts to brisker movements. + +“Whatever else this old farm has on it, I vow and declare,” he said, +“this five or six acres alone might be made to pay a profit on the whole +investment!” + + + +CHAPTER IX. THE BARGAIN IS MADE + +Henry showed Hiram the “branch”, a little stream flowing into the river, +which marked the westerly boundary of the farm for some ways, and they +set off up the steep bank of this stream. + +This back end of the farm--quite forty acres, or half of the whole +tract--had been entirely neglected by the last owner of the property for +a great many years. It was some distance from the house, for the farm +was a long and narrow strip of land from the highway to the river, and +Uncle Jeptha had had quite all he could do to till the uplands and the +fields adjacent to his home. + +They came upon these open fields--many of them filthy with dead weeds +and littered with sprouting bushes--from the rear. Hiram saw that the +fences were in bad repair and that the back of the premises gave every +indication of neglect and shiftlessness. + +Perhaps not exactly the latter; Uncle Jeptha had been an old man and +unable to do much active work for some years. But he had cropped certain +of his fields “on shares” with the usual results--impoverished soil, +illy-tilled crops, and the land left in a slovenly condition which +several years of careful tillage would hardly overcome. + +Now, although Hiram's father had been of the tenant class, he had farmed +other men's land as he would his own. Owners of outlying farms had been +glad to get Mr. Strong to till their fields. + +He had known how to work, he knew the reasons for every bit of labor +he performed, and he had not kept his son in ignorance of them. As they +worked together the father had explained to the son what he did, and why +he did it, The results of their work spoke for themselves, and Hiram had +a retentive memory. + +Mr. Strong, too, had been a great, reader--especially in the winter when +the farmer naturally has more time in-doors. + +Yet he was a “twelve months farmer”; he knew that the winter, despite +the broken nature of the work, was quite as valuable to the successful +farmer as the other seasons of the year. + +The elder Strong knew that men with more money, and more time for +experimenting than he had, were writing and publishing all the time +helps for the wise farmer. He subscribed for several papers, and read +and digested them carefully. + +Hiram, even during his two years in the city, had continued his +subscription (although it was hard to find the money sometimes) to two +or three of those publications that his father had most approved. And +the boy had read them faithfully. + +He was as up-to-date in farming lore now, if not in actual practise, as +he had been when he left the country to try his fortune in Crawberry. + +Beyond the place where the branch turned back upon itself and hid its +source in the thicker timber, Hiram saw that the fields were open on +both sides of this westerly line of the farm. + +“Who's our neighbor over yonder, Henry?” he asked. + +“Dickerson--Sam Dickerson,” said Henry. “And he's got a boy, Pete, no +older than us. Say, Hiram, you'll have trouble with Pete Dickerson.” + +“Oh, I guess not,” returned the young farmer, laughing. “Trouble is +something that I don't go about hunting for.” + +“You don't have to hunt it when Pete is round,” said Henry with a wry +grin. “But mebbe he won't bother you, for he's workin' near town--for +that new man that's moved into the old Fleigler place. Bronson's his +name. But if Pete don't bother you, Sam may.” + +“Sam's the father?” + +“Yep. And one poor farmer and mean man, if ever there was one! Oh, Pete +comes by his orneriness honestly enough.” + +“Oh, I hope I'll have no trouble with any neighbor,” said Hiram, +hopefully. + +They came briskly to the outbuildings belonging to Mrs. Atterson's newly +acquired legacy. Hiram glanced into the hog lot. She looked like a good +sow, and the six-weeks-old shoats were in good condition. In a couple of +weeks they would be big enough to sell if Mrs. Atterson did not care to +raise them. + +The shoats were worth six dollars a pair, too; he had inquired the day +before about them. There was practically eighteen dollars squealing in +that pen--and eighteen dollars would go a long way toward feeding the +horse and cow until there was good pasturage for them. + +These animals named were in the small fenced barnyard. In the fall and +winter the old man had fed a good deal of fodder and other roughage, and +during the winter the horse and cow had tramped this coarse material, +and the stable scrapings, into a mat of fairly good manure. + +He looked the horse and cow over with more care. It was a fact that +the horse looked pretty shaggy; but he had been used little during +the winter, and had been seldom curried. A ragged coat upon a horse +sometimes covers quite as many good points as the same quality of +garment does upon a man. + +When Hiram spoke to the beast it came to the fence with a friendly +forward thrust of its ears, and the confidence of a horse that has been +kindly treated and looks upon even a strange human as a friend. + +It was a strong and well-shaped animal, more than twelve years old, +as Hiram discovered when he opened the creature's mouth, but seemingly +sound in limb. Nor was he too large for work on the cultivator, while +sturdy enough to carry a single plow. + +Hiram passed him over with a satisfactory pat on the nose and turned +to look at the white-faced cow that had so terrified Mrs. Atterson. She +wasn't a bad looking beast, either, and would freshen shortly. Her calf +would be worth from twelve to fifteen dollars if Mrs. Atterson did not +wish to raise it. Another future asset to mention to the old lady when +he returned. + +The youth turned his attention to the buildings themselves--the barn, +the cart shed, the henhouse, and the smaller buildings. That famous old +decorating firm of Wind & Weather had contracted for all painting done +around the Atterson place for the many years; but the buildings were not +otherwise in a bad state of repair. + +A few shingles had been blown off the roofs; here and there a board was +loose. With a hammer and a few nails, and in a few hours, many of these +small repairs could be accomplished. And a coat or two of properly +mixed and applied whitewash would freshen up the whole place and--like +charity--cover a multitude of sins. + +Henry bade him good-bye now, they shook hands, and Hiram agreed to let +his new friend know at once if he decided to come with Mrs. Atterson to +the farm. + +“We can have heaps of fun--you and me,” declared Henry. + +“It isn't so bad,” soliloquized the young farmer when he was alone. +“There'd be time to put the buildings and fences in good shape before +the spring work came on with a rush. There's fertilizer enough in the +barnyard and the pig pen and the hen run--with the help of a few pounds +of salts and some bone meal, perhaps--to enrich a right smart kitchen +garden and spread for corn on that four acre lot yonder. + +“Of course, this land up here on the hill needs humus. If it has been +cropped on shares, as Henry says, all the enrichment it has received +has been from commercial fertilizers. And necessarily they have made the +land sour. It probably needs lime badly. + +“Yes, I can't encourage Mrs. Atterson to look for a profit in anything +this year. It will take a year to get that rich bottom into shape +for--for what, I wonder? Onions? Celery? It would raise 'em both. I'll +think about that and look over the market prospects more fully before I +decide.” + +For already, you see, Hiram had come to the decision that this old farm +could be made to pay. Why not? The true farmer has to have imagination +as well as the knowledge and the perseverance to grow crops. He must be +able in his mind's eye to see a field ready for the reaping before he +puts in a seed. + +He did not go to the house on this occasion, but after casually +examining the tools and harness, and the like, left by the old man, he +cut off across the upper end of the farm and gave the neglected open +fields of this upper forty a casual examination. + +“If she had the money to invest, I'd say buy sheep and fence these +fields and so get rid of the weeds. They've grown very foul through +neglect, and cultivating them for years would not destroy the weeds as +sheep would in two seasons. + +“But wire fencing is expensive--and so are good sheep to begin with. No. +Slow but sure must be our motto. I mustn't advise any great outlay of +money--that would scare her to death. + +“It will be hard enough for her to put out money all season long before +there are any returns. We'll go, slow,” repeated Hiram. + +But when he left the farm that afternoon he went swiftly enough to +Scoville and took the train for the not far distant city of Crawberry. +This was Tuesday evening and he arrived just about supper time at Mrs. +Atterson's. + +The reason for Hiram's absence, and the matter of Mrs. Atterson's legacy +altogether, had been kept from the boarders. And there was no time until +after the principal meal of the day was off the lady's mind for Hiram to +say anything to her. + +“She's a good old soul,” thought Hiram. “And if it's in my power to make +that farm pay, and yield her a competency for her old age, I'll do it.” + +Meanwhile he was not losing sight of the fact that there was something +due to him in this matter. He was bound to see that he got his +share--and a just share--of any profits that might accrue from the +venture. + +So, after the other boarders had scattered, and Mrs. Atterson had eaten +her own late supper, and Sister was swashing plates and knives and forks +about in a big pan of hot water in the kitchen sink, (between whiles +doing her best to listen at the crack of the door) the landlady and +Hiram Strong threshed out the project fully. + +It was not all one-sided; for Mrs. Atterson, after all, had been +bargaining all her life and could see the “main chance” as quickly as +the next one. She had not bickered with hucksters, chivvied grocerymen, +fought battles royal with butchers, and endured the existence of a Red +Indian amidst allied foes for two decades without having her wits ground +to a razor edge. + +On the other hand, Hiram Strong, although a boy in years, had been his +own master long enough to take care of himself in most transactions, and +withal had a fund of native caution. They jotted down memoranda of the +points on which they were agreed, which included the following: + +Mrs. Atterson, as “party of the first part”, agreed to board Hiram until +the crops were harvested the second year. In addition she was to pay +him one hundred dollars at Christmas time this first year, and another +hundred at the conclusion of the agreement--i. e., when the second +year's crop was harvested. + +Beside, of the estimated profits of the second year's crop, Hiram was +to have twenty-five per cent. This profit was to be that balance in the +farm's favor (if such balance there was) over and above the actual cost +of labor, seed, and such purchased fertilizer or other supplies as were +necessary. Mrs. Atterson agreed likewise to supply one serviceable horse +and such tools as might be needed, for the place was to be run as “a +one-horse farm.” + +On the other hand Hiram agreed to give his entire time to the farm, to +work for Mrs. Atterson's interest in all things, to make no expenditures +without discussing them first with her, and to give his best care and +attention generally to the farm and all that pertained thereto. Of +course, the old lady was taking Hiram a good deal on trust. But she had +known the boy almost two years and he had been faithful and prompt in +discharging his debts to her. + +But it was up to the young fellow to “make good.” He could not expect +to make any profit for his employer the first year; but he would be +expected to do so the second season, or “show cause.” + + +When these matters were all discussed and the little memorandum +signed, Hiram Strong, in his own room, thought the situation over very +seriously. He was facing the biggest responsibility that he had obliged +to assume in his whole life. + +This was no boyish job; it was man's work. He had put his hand to an +agreement that might influence his whole future, and certainly would +make or break his credit as a trustworthy youth and one of his word. + +During these past days Hiram had determined to “get back to the soil” + and to get back to it in a business-like way. He desired to make good +for Mrs. Atterson so that he might some time have the chance to make +good for somebody else on a bigger scale. + +He did not propose to be “a one-horse farmer” all his days. + + + +CHAPTER X. THE SOUND OF BEATING HOOFS + +On Monday morning Mrs. Atterson put her house in the agent's hands. On +Wednesday a pair of spinster ladies came to look at it. They came again +on Thursday and again on Friday. + +Friday being considered an “unlucky” day they did not bind the bargain; +but on Saturday money was passed, and the new keepers of the house were +to take possession in a week. Not until then were the boarders informed +of Mother Atterson's change of circumstances, and the fact that she was +going to graduate from the boarding house kitchen to the farm. + +After all, they were sorry--those light-headed, irresponsible young +men. There wasn't one of them, from Crackit down the line, who could +not easily remember some special kindness that marked the old lady's +intercourse with him. + +As soon as the fact was announced that the boarding house had changed +hands, the boarders were up in arms. There was a wild gabble of voices, +over the supper table that night. Crackit led the chorus. + +“It's a mean trick. Mother Atterson has sold us like so many cattle to +the highest bidder. Ungrateful--right down ungrateful, I call it,” he +declared. “What do you say, Feeble?” + +“It is particularly distasteful to me just now,” complained the invalid. +“When Sister has learned to give me my hot water at just the right +temperature,” and he took a sip of that innocent beverage. “Don't you +suppose we could prevail upon the old lady to renig?” + +“She's bound to put us off with half rations for the rest of the time +she stays,” declared Crackit, shaking his head wisely. “She's got +nothing to lose now. She don't care if we all up and leave--after she +gets hers.” + +“That's always the way,” feebly remarked Mr. Peebles. “Just as soon as I +really get settled down into a half-decent lodging, something happens.” + +Mr. Peebles had been a fixture at Mother Atterson's for nearly ten +years. Only Old Lem Camp had been longer at the place. + +The latter was the only boarder who had no adverse criticism for the +mistress's new move. Indeed this evening Mr. Camp said nothing whatever; +even his usual mumblings to himself were not heard. + +He ate slowly, and but little. He was still sitting at the table when +all the others had departed. + +Mrs. Atterson started into the dining-room with her own supper between +two plates when she saw the old man sitting there despondent in looks +and attitude, his head resting on one clawlike hand, his elbow on the +soiled table cloth. + +He did not look up, nor move. The mistress glanced back over her +shoulder, and there was Sister, sniffling and occasionally rubbing her +wrist into her red eyes as she scraped the tower of plates from the +dinner table. + +“My soul and body!” gasped Mother Atterson, almost dropping her supper +on the floor. “There's Sister--and there's Old Lem Camp! Whatever will I +do with 'em?” + +Meanwhile Hiram Strong had already left for the farm on the Wednesday +previous. The other boarders knew nothing about his agreement with +Mother Atterson; he had agreed to go to the place and begin work, and +take care of the stock and all, “choring for himself”, as the good lady +called it, until she could complete her city affairs and move herself +and her personal chattels to the farm. + +Hiram bore a note to the woman who had promised to care for the Atterson +place, and money to pay her what the boarding-house mistress had agreed. + +“You can 'bach' it in the house as well as poor old Uncle Jeptha did, I +reckon,” this woman told the youth. + +She showed him where certain provisions were--the pork barrel, ham and +bacon of the old man's curing, and the few vegetables remaining from the +winter's store. + +“The cow was about gone dry, anyway,” said the woman, Mrs. Larriper, who +was a widow and lived with her married daughter some half-mile down the +road toward Scoville, “so I didn't bother to milk her. + +“You'll have to go to town to buy grain, if you want to feed her up--and +for the chickens and the horse. The old man didn't make much of a crop +last year--or them shiftless Dickersons didn't make much for him. + +“I saw Sam Dickerson around here this morning. He borrowed some of the +old man's tools when Uncle Jeptha was sick, and you'll have to go after +'em, I reckon. + +“Sam's the best borrower that ever was; but he never can remember to +bring things back. He says it's bad enough to have to borrow; it's too +much to expect the same man to return what he borrows. + +“Now, Mrs. Dickerson,” pursued Mrs. Larriper, “was as nice a girl before +she married--she was a Stepney--as ever walked in shoe-leather. And I +guess she'd be right friendly with the neighbors if Sam would let her. + +“But the poor thing never gits to go out--no, sir! She's jest tied to +the house. They lost a child once--four year ago. That's the only time +I remember of seeing Sarah Stepney in church since the day she was +married--and she's got a boy--Pete--as old as you be. + +“Now, on the other side o' ye there's Darrell's tract, and you won't +have no trouble there, for there ain't a house on his place, and he lets +it lie idle. Waiting for a rise in price, I 'spect. + +“Some rich folks is comin' in and buying up pieces of land and making +what they calls 'gentlemen's estates' out o' them. A family named +Bronson--Mr. Stephen Bronson, with one little girl--bought the Fleigler +place only last month. + +“They're nice folks,” pursued this amiable but talkative lady, “and +they don't live but a mile or so along the Scoville road. You passed the +place--white, with green shutters, and a water-tower in the back, when +you walked up.” + +“I remember it,” said Hiram, nodding. + +“They're western folk. Come clear from out in Injiany, or Illiny, or +the like. The girl's going to school and she ain't got no mother, so her +father's come on East with her to be near the school. + +“Well, I can't help you no more. Them hens! Well, I'd sell 'em if I was +Mis' Atterson. + +“Hens ain't much nowadays, anyhow; and I expect a good many of those are +too old to lay. Uncle Jeptha couldn't fuss with chickens, and he didn't +raise only a smitch of 'em last year and the year before--just them that +the hens hatched themselves in stolen nests, and chanced to bring up +alive. + +“You better grease the cart before you use it. It's stood since they +hauled in corn last fall. + +“And look out for Dickerson. Ask him for the things he borrowed. You'll +need 'em, p'r'aps, if you're goin' to do any farmin' for Mis' Atterson.” + +She bustled away. Hiram thought he had heard enough about his neighbors +for a while, and he went out to look over the pasture fencing, which was +to be his first repair job. He would have that ready to turn the cow and +her calf into as soon as the grass began to grow. + +He rummaged about in what had been half woodshed and half workshop +in Uncle Jeptha's time, and found a heavy claw-hammer, a pair of wire +cutters, and a pocket full of fence staples. + +With this outfit he prepared to follow the line fence, which was +likewise the pasture fence on the west side, between Mrs. Atterson's and +Dickerson's. + +Where he could, he mended the broken strands of wire. In other places +the wires had sagged and were loose. The claw-hammer fixed these like +a charm. Slipping the wire into the claw, a single twist of the wrist +would usually pick up the sag and make the wire taut again at that +point. + +He drove a few staples, as needed, as he walked along. The pasture +partook of the general conformation of the farm--it was rather long and +narrow. + +It had grown to clumps of bushes in spots, and there was sufficient +shade. But he did not come to the water until he reached the lower end +of the lot. + +The branch trickled from a spring, or springs, farther east. It made +an elbow at the corner of the pasture--the lower south-west corner--and +there a water-hole had been scooped out at some past time. + +This waterhole was deep enough for all purposes, and was shaded by a +great oak that had stood there long before the house belonging to Jeptha +Atterson had been built. + +Here Hiram struck something that puzzled him. The boundary fence crossed +this water-hole at a tangent, and recrossed to the west bank of the +outflowing branch a few yards below, leaving perhaps half of the +water-hole upon the neighbor's side of the fence. + +Some of this wire at the water-hole was practically new. So were the +posts. And after a little Hiram traced the line of old postholes which +had followed a straight line on the west side of the water-hole. + +In other words, this water-privilege for Dickerson's land was of recent +arrangement--so recent indeed, that the young farmer believed he could +see some fresh-turned earth about the newly-set posts. + +“That's something to be looked into, I am afraid,” thought Hiram, as he +moved along the southern pasture fence. + +But the trickle of the branch beckoned him; he had not found the +fountain-head of the little stream when he had walked over a part of the +timbered land with Henry Pollock, and now he struck into the open woods +again, digging into the soil here and there with his heavy boot, marking +the quality and age of the timber, and casting-up in his mind the +possibilities and expense of clearing these overgrown acres. + +“Mrs. Atterson may have a very valuable piece of land here in time,” + muttered Hiram. “A sawmill set up in here could cut many a hundred +thousand feet of lumber--and good lumber, too. But it would spoil the +beauty of the farm.” + +However, as must ever be in the case of the utility farm, the house was +set on its ugliest part. The cleared fields along the road had nothing +but the background of woods on the south and east to relieve their +monotony. + +On the brow of the steeper descent, which he had noted on his former +visit to the back end of the farm, he found a certain clearing in the +wood. Here the pines surrounded the opening on three sides. + +To the south, through a break in the wooded hillside, he obtained a +far-reaching view of the river valley as it lay, to the east and to the +west. The prospect was delightful. + +Here and there, on the farther bank of the river, which rose less +abruptly there than on this side, lay several cheerful looking +farmsteads. The white dwellings and outbuildings dotted the checkered +fields of green and brown. + +Cowbells tinkled in the distance, for the weather tempted farmers to let +their cattle run in the pastures even so early in the season. A horse +whinnied shrilly to a mate in a distant field. + +The creaking of the heavy wheels of a laden farm-cart was a mellow sound +in Hiram's ears. Beyond a fir plantation, high on the hillside, the +sharply outlined steeple of a little church lay against the soft blue +horizon. + +“A beauty-spot!” Hiram muttered. “What a site for a home! And yet people +want to build their houses right on an automobile road, and in sight of +the rural mail box!” + +His imagination began to riot, spurred by the outlook and by the nearer +prospect of wood and hillside. The sun now lay warmly upon him as he sat +upon a stump and drank in the beauty of it all. + +After a time his ear, becoming attuned to the multitudinous voices +of the wood, descried the silvery note of falling water. He arose and +traced the sound. + +Less than twenty yards away, and not far from the bluff, a vigorous +rivulet started from beneath the half-bared roots of a monster beech, +and fell over an outcropping boulder into a pool so clear that sand +on its bottom, worked mysteriously into a pattern by the action of the +water, lay revealed. + +Hiram knelt on a mossy rock beside the pool, and bending put his lips +to the water. It was the sweetest, most satisfying drink, he had imbibed +for many a day. + +But the morning was growing old, and Hiram wanted to trace the farther +line of the farm. He went down to the river, crossed the open meadow +again where they had built the campfire the morning before, and found +the deeply scarred oak which stood exactly on the boundary line between +the Atterson and Darrell tracts. + +He turned to the north, and followed the line as nearly as might be. The +Darrell tract was entirely wooded, and when he reached the uplands +he kept on in the shadowy aisles of the sap-pines which covered his +neighbor's property. + +He came finally to where the ground fell away again, and the yellow, +deeply-rutted road lay at his feet. The winter had played havoc with the +automobile track. + +The highway was unfenced and the bank dropped fifteen feet to the beaten +path. A leaning oak overhung the road and Hiram lingered here, lying +on its broad trunk, face upward, with his hat pulled over his eyes to +shield them from the sunlight which filtered through the branches. + +This land hereabout was beautiful. The boy could appreciate the beauty +as well as the utility of the soil. It was so pleasing to the eye that +he wished with all his heart it had been his own land he had surveyed. + +“And I'll not be a tenant farmer all my life, nor a farm-foreman, as +father was,” determined the boy. “I'll get ahead. If I work for the +benefit of other people for a few years, surely I'll win the chance in +time to at last work for myself.” + +In the midst of his ruminations a sound broke upon his ear--a jarring +note in the peaceful murmur of the woodland life. It was the thud of a +horse's hoofs. + +Not the sedate tunk-tunk of iron-shod feet on the damp earth, but +an erratic and rapid pounding of hoof-beats which came on with such +startling swiftness that Hiram sat up instantly, and craned his neck to +see up the road. + +“That horse is running away!” gasped the young farmer, and he swung +himself out upon the lowest branch of the leaning tree which overhung +the carttrack, the better to see along the highway. + + + +CHAPTER XI. A GIRL RIDES INTO THE TALE + +There was no bend in the highway for some distance, but the overhanging +trees masked the track completely, save for a few hundred yards. The +horse, whether driven or running at large, was plainly spurred by +fright. + +Into the peacefulness of this place its hoof-beats were bringing the +element of peril. + +Lying prostrate on the sloping trunk, Hiram could see much farther up +the road. The outstretched head and lathered breast of a tall bay horse +leaped into view, and like a picture in a kinetoscope, growing larger +and more vivid second by second, the maddened animal came down the road. + +Hiram could see that the beast was not riderless, but it was a moment +or two--a long-drawn, anxious space of heart-beaten seconds--ere he +realized what manner of rider it was who clung so desperately to the +masterless creature. + +“It's a girl--a little girl!” gasped Hiram. + +She was only a speck of color, with white, drawn face, on the back of +the racing horse. + +Every plunge of the oncoming animal shook the little figure as though +it must fall from the saddle. But Hiram could see that she hung with +phenomenal pluck to the broken bridle and to the single horn of her +side-saddle. + +If the horse fell, or if she were shaken free, she would be flung to +instant death, or be fearfully bruised under the pounding hoofs of the +big horse. + +The young farmer's appreciation of the peril was instant; unused as he +was to meeting such emergency, there was neither panic nor hesitancy in +his actions. + +He writhed farther out upon the limb of the leaning oak until he was +direct above the road. The big bay naturally kept to the middle, for +there was no obstruction in its path. + +To have dropped to the highway would have put Hiram to instant +disadvantage; for before he could have recovered himself after the drop +the horse would have been upon him. + +Now, swinging with both legs wrapped around the tough limb, and his left +hand gripping a smaller branch, but with his back to the plunging brute, +the youth glanced under his right armpit to judge the distance and the +on-rush of the horse and its helpless rider. + +He knew she saw him. Swift as was the steed's approach, Hiram had seen +the change come into the expression of the girl's face. + +“Clear your foot of the stirrup!” he shouted, hoping the girl would +understand. + +With a confusing thunder of hoofbeats the bay came on--was beneath +him--had passed! + +Hiram's right arm shot out, curved slightly, and as his fingers gripped +her sleeve, the girl let go. She was whisked out of the saddle and the +horse swept on without her. + +The strain of the girl's slight weight upon his arm lasted but a moment, +for Hiram let go with his feet, swung down, and dropped. + +They alighted in the roadway with so slight a jar that he scarcely +staggered, but set the girl down gently, and for the passing of a breath +her body swayed against him, seeking support. + +Then she sprang a little away, and they stood looking at each +other--Hiram panting and flushed, the girl with wide-open eyes out of +which the terror had not yet faded, and cheeks still colorless. + +So they stood, for fully half a minute, speechless, while the thunder of +the bay's hoofs passed further and further away and finally was lost in +the distance. + +And it wasn't excitement that kept the boy dumb; for that was all over, +and he had been as cool as need be through the incident. But it +was unbounded amazement that made him stare so at the slight girl +confronting him. + +He had seen her brilliant, dark little face before. Only once--but that +one occasion had served to photograph her features on his memory. + +For the second time he had been of service to her; but he knew +instantly--and the fact did not puzzle him--that she did not recognize +him. + +It had been so dark in the unlighted side street back in Crawberry the +evening of their first meeting that Hiram believed (and was glad) that +neither she nor her father would recognize him as the boy who had kept +their carriage from going into the open ditch. + +And he had played rescuer again--and in a much more heroic manner. +This was the daughter of the man whom he had thought to be a prosperous +farmer, and whose card Hiram had lost. + +He had hoped the gentleman might have a job for him; but now Hiram was +not looking for a job. He had given himself heartily to the project of +making the old Atterson farm pay; nor was he the sort of fellow to show +fickleness in such a project. + +Before either Hiram or the girl broke the silence--before that silence +could become awkward, indeed--there started into hearing the ring of +rapid hoofbeats again. But it was not the runaway returning. + +The mate of the latter appeared, and he came jogging along the road, +very much in hand, the rider seemingly quite unflurried. + +This was a big, ungainly, beak-nosed boy, whose sleeves were much too +short, and trousers-legs likewise, to hide Nature's abundant gift to him +in the matter of bone and knuckle. He was freckled and wore a grin that +was not even sheepish. + +Somehow, this stolidity and inappreciation of the peril the girl had so +recently escaped, made Hiram feel sudden indignation. + +But the girl herself took the lout to task--before Hiram could say a +word. + +“I told you that horse could not bear the whip, Peter!” she exclaimed, +with wrathful gaze. “How dared you strike him?” + +“Aw--I only touched him up a bit,” drawled the youth. “You said you +could ride anything, didn't you?” and his grin grew wider. “But I see ye +had to get off.” + +Here Hiram could stand it no longer, and he blurted out: + +“She might have been killed! I believe that horse is running yet----” + +“Well, why didn't you stop it?” demanded the other youth, “impudently. +You had a chance.” + +“He saved me,” cried the girl, looking at Hiram now with shining eyes. +“I don't know how to thank him.” + +“He might have stopped the horse while he was about it,” growled the +fellow, picking up his own reins again. “Now I'll have to ride after +it.” + +“You'd better,” said the little lady, sharply. “If father knew that +horse had run away with me he would be dreadfully put out. You hurry +after him, Peter.” + +The lout never said a word in reply, but his horse carried him swiftly +out of sight in the wake of the runaway. Then the girl turned again to +Hiram and the young farmer knew that he was being keenly examined by her +bright black eyes. + +“I am very sure father will not keep him,” declared the girl, looking at +Hiram thoughtfully. “He is too careless--and I don't like him, anyway. +Do you live around here?” + +“I expect to,” replied Hiram, smiling. “I have just come. I am going to +stay at this next house, along the road.” + +“Oh! where the old gentleman died last week?” + +“Yes. Mrs. Atterson was left the place by her uncle, and I am going to +run it for her.” + +“Oh, dear! then you've got a place to work?” queried the little lady, +with plain disappointment in her tone. “I am sure father would like to +have you instead of Peter.” + +But Hiram shook his head slowly, though still smiling, + +“I'm obliged to you,” he said; “but I have agreed to stop with Mrs. +Atterson for a time.” + +“I want father to meet you just the same,” she declared. + +She had a way about her that impressed Hiram with the idea that she +seldom failed in getting what she wanted. If she was not a spoiled +child, she certainly was a very much indulged one. + +But she was pretty! Dark, petite, with a brilliant smile, flashing +eyes, and a riot of blue-black curls, she was verily the daintiest and +prettiest little creature the young farmer had ever seen. + +“I am Lettie Bronson,” she said, frankly. “I live down the road toward +Scoville. We have only just come here.” + +“I know where you live,” said Hiram, smiling and nodding. + +“You must come and see us. I want you to know father. He's the very +nicest man there is, I think.” + +“He came all the way East here so as to live near my school--I go to the +St. Beris school in Scoville. It's awfully nice, and the girls are very +fashionable; but I'd be too lonely to live if daddy wasn't right near me +all the time. + +“What is your name?” she asked suddenly. + +Hiram told her. + +“Why! that's a regular farmer's name, isn't it--Hiram?” and she +laughed--a clear and sweet sound, that made an inquisitive squirrel that +had been watching them scamper away to his hollow, chattering. + +“I don't know about that,” returned the young farmer, shaking his +head and smiling. “I ought by good rights to be 'a worker in brass', +according to the Bible. That was the trade of Hiram, of the tribe of +Naphtali, who came out of Tyre to make all the brass work for Solomon's +temple.” + +“Oh! and there was a King Hiram, of Tyre, too, wasn't there,” cried +Lettie, laughing. “You might be a king, you know.” + +“That seems to be an unprofitable trade now-a-days,” returned the young +fellow, shaking his head. “I think I will be the namesake of Hiram, the +brass-smith, for it is said of him that he was 'filled with wisdom and +understanding' and that is what I want to be if I am going to run Mrs. +Atterson's farm and make it pay.” + +“You're a funny boy,” said the girl, eyeing him furiously. +“You're--you're not at all like Pete--or these other boys about +Scoville.” + +“And that Pete Dickerson isn't any good at all! I shall tell daddy all +about how he touched up that horse and made him run. Here he comes now!” + +They had been walking steadily along the road toward the Atterson house, +and in the direction the runaway had taken. Pete Dickerson appeared, +riding one of the bays and leading the one that had been frightened. + +The latter was all of a lather, was blowing hard, and before the horses +reached them, Hiram saw that the runaway was in bad shape. + +“Hold on!” he cried to the lout. “Breathe that horse a while. Let him +stand. He ought to be rubbed down, too. Don't you see the shape he is +in?” + +“Aw, what's eatin' you?” demanded Pete, eyeing the speaker with much +disfavor. + +The horse, when he stopped, was trembling all over. His nostrils were +dilated and as red as blood, and strings of foam were dripping from his +bit. + +“Don't let him stand there in the shade,” spoke Hiram, more “mildly. +He'll take a chill. Here! let me have him.” + +He approached the still frightened horse, and Pete jerked the +bridle-rein. The horse started back and snorted. + +“Stand 'round there, ye 'tarnal nuisance!” exclaimed Pete. + +But Hiram caught the bridle and snatched it from the other fellow's +hand. + +“Just let me manage him a minute,” said Hiram, leading the horse into +the sunshine. + +He patted him, and soothed him, and the horse ceased trembling and his +ears pricked up. Hiram, still keeping the reins in his hand, loosened +the cinches and eased the saddle so that the animal could breathe +better. + +There were bunches of dried sage-grass growing by the roadside, and the +young farmer tore off a couple of these bunches and used them to wipe +down the horse's legs. Pretty soon the creature forgot his fright and +looked like a normal horse again. + +“If he was mine I'd give him whip a-plenty--till he learned better,” + drawled Pete Dickerson, finally. + +“Don't you ever dare touch him with the whip again!” cried the girl, +stamping her foot. “He will not stand it. You were told----” + +“Aw, well,” said the fellow, “'I didn't think he was going to cut up as +bad as that. These Western horses ain't more'n half broke, anyway.” + +“I think he is perfectly safe for you to ride now, Miss Bronson,” said +Hiram, quietly. “I'll give you a hand up. But walk him home, please.” + +He had tightened the cinches again. Lettie put her tiny booted foot in +his hand (she wore a very pretty dark green habit) and with perfect ease +the young farmer lifted her into the saddle. + +“Good-bye--and thank you again!” she said, softly, giving him her free +hand just as the horse started. + +“Say! you're the fellow who's going to live at Atterson's place?” + observed Pete. “I'll see you later,” and he waved his hand airily as he +rode off. + +“So that's Pete Dickerson, is it?” ruminated Hiram, as he watched the +horses out of sight. “Well, if his father, Sam, is anything like him, we +certainly have got a sweet pair of neighbors!” + + + +CHAPTER XII. SOMETHING ABOUT A PASTURE FENCE + +That afternoon Hiram hitched up the old horse and drove into town. + +He went to see the lawyer who had transacted Uncle Jeptha Atterson's +small business in the old man's lifetime, and had made his will--Mr. +Strickland. Hiram judged that this gentleman would know as much about +the Atterson place as anybody. + +“No--Mr. Atterson never said anything to me about giving a neighbor +water-rights,” the lawyer said. “Indeed, Mr. Atterson was not a man +likely to give anything away--until he had got through with it himself. + +“Dickerson once tried to buy a right at that corner of the Atterson +pasture; but he and the old gentleman couldn't come to terms. + +“Dickerson has no water on his place, saving his well and his rights on +the river. It makes it bad for him, I suppose; but I do not advise Mrs. +Atterson to let that fence stand. Give that sort of a man an inch and +he'll take a mile.” + +“But what shall I do?” + +“That's professional advice, young man,” returned the lawyer, “smiling. +But I will give it to you without charge. + +“Merely go and pull the new posts up and replace them on the line. If +Dickerson interferes with you, come to me and we'll have him bound over +before the Justice of the Peace. + +“You represent Mrs. Atterson and are within her rights. That's the best +I can tell you.” + +Now, Hiram was not desirous of starting any trouble--legal or +otherwise--with a neighbor; but neither did he wish to see anybody take +advantage of his old boarding mistress. He knew that, beside farming +for her, he would probably have to defend her from many petty annoyances +like the present case. + +So he bought the wire he needed for repairs, a few other things that +were necessary, and drove back to the farm, determined to go right ahead +and await the consequences. + +Among his purchases was an axe. In the workshop on the farm was a fairly +good grindstone; only the treadle was broken and Hiram had to repair +this before he could make much headway in grinding the axe. Henry +Pollock lived too far away to be called upon in such a small emergency. + +Being obliged to work alone sharpens one's wits. The young farmer had to +resort to shifts and expedients on every hand, as he went along. + +The day before, while wandering in the wood, he had marked several white +oaks of the right size for posts. He would have preferred cedars, of +course; but those trees were scarce on the Atterson tract--and they +might be needed for some more important job later on. + +When he came up to the house at noon to feed the stock and make his own +frugal meal in the farm house kitchen, the posts were cut. After dinner +he harnessed the horse to the farm wagon, and went down for the posts, +taking the rolls of wire along to drop beside the fence. + +The horse was a steady, willing creature, and seemed to have no tricks. +He did not drive very well on the road, of course; but that wasn't what +they needed a horse for. + +Driving was a secondary matter. + +Hiram loaded his posts and hauled them to the pasture, driving inside +the fence line and dropping a post wherever one had rotted out. + +Yet posts that had rotted at the ground were not so easy to draw out, as +the young farmer very well knew, and he set his wits to work to make the +removal of the old posts easy of accomplishment. + +He found an old, but strong, carpenter's horse in the shed, to act as +a fulcrum, and a seasoned bar of hickory as a lever. There was never +an old farm yet that didn't have a useful heap of junk, and Hiram had +already scratched over Uncle Jeptha's collection of many years' standng. + +He found what he sought in a wrought iron band some half inch in +thickness with a heavy hook attached to it by a single strong link. +He fitted this band upon the larger end of the hickory bar, wedging it +tightly into place. + +A short length of trace chain completed his simple post-puller. And he +could easily carry the outfit from place to place as it was needed. + +When he found a weak or rotting post, he pulled the staples that held +the strands of wire to it and and then set the trestle alongside the +post. Resting the lever on the trestle, he dropped the end link of the +chain on the hook, looped the chain around the post, and hooked on with +another link. Bearing down on the lever brought the post out of the +ground every time. + +With a long-handled spade Hiram cleaned out the old holes, or enlarged +them, and set his new posts, one after the other. He left the wires to +be tightened and stapled later. + +It was not until the next afternoon that he worked down as far as the +water-hole. Meanwhile he had seen nothing of the neighbors and neither +knew, nor cared, whether they were watching him or not. + +But it was evident that the Dickersons had kept tabs on the young +farmer's progress, for, he had no more than pulled the posts out of +the water-hole and started to reset them on the proper line, than the +long-legged Pete Dickerson appeared. + +“Hey, you!” shouted Pete. “What are you monkeying with that line fence +for?” + +“Because I won't have time to fix it later,” responded Hiram, calmly. + +“Fresh Ike, ain't yer?” demanded young Dickerson. + +He was half a head taller than Hiram, and plainly felt himself safe in +adopting bullying tactics. + +“You put them posts back where you found 'em and string the wires again +in a hurry--or I'll make yer.” + +“This is Mrs. Atterson's fence,” said Hiram, quietly. “I have made +inquiries about the line, and I know where it belongs.” + +“No part of this water-hole belongs on your side of the fence, +Dickerson, and as long as I represent Mrs. Atterson it's not going to be +grabbed.” + +“Say! the old man gave my father the right to a part of this hole long +ago.” + +“Show your legal paper to that effect,” promptly suggested Hiram. “Then +we will let it stand until the lawyers decide the matter.” + +Pete was silent for a minute; meanwhile Hiram continued to dig his hole, +and finally set the first post into place. + +“I tell you to take that post out o' there, Mister,” exclaimed Pete, +suddenly approaching the other. “I don't like you, anyway. You helped +git me turned off up there to Bronson's yesterday. If you wouldn't have +put your fresh mouth in about the horse that gal wouldn't have knowed +so much to tell her father. Now you stop foolin' with this fence or I'll +lick you.” + +Hiram Strong's disposition was far from being quarrelsome. He only +laughed at first and said: + +“Why, that won't do you any good in the end, Peter. Thrashing me won't +give you and your father the right to usurp rights at this water-hole. + +“There was very good reason, as I can see, for old Mr. Atterson refusing +to let you water your stock here. In time of drouth the branch probably +furnished no more water than his own cattle needed. And it will be the +same with my employer.” + +“You'd better have less talk about it, and set back them posts,” + declared Pete, decidedly, laying off his coat and pulling up his shirt +sleeves. + +“I hope you won't try anything foolish, Peter,” said Hiram, resting on +his shovel handle. + +“Huh!” grunted Pete, eyeing him sideways as might an evil-disposed dog. + +“We're not well matched,” observed Hiram, quietly, “and whether you +thrashed me, or I thrashed you, nothing would be proved by it in regard +to the line fence.” + +“I'll show you what I can prove!” cried Pete, and rushed for him. + +In a catch-as-catch-can wrestle Pete Dickerson might have been able +to overturn Hiram Strong. But the latter did not propose to give the +long-armed youth that advantage. + +He dropped the spade, stepped nimbly aside, and as Pete lunged past +him the young farmer doubled his fist and struck his antagonist solidly +under the ear. + +That was the only blow struck--that and the one when Pete struck the +ground. The bigger fellow rolled over, grunted, and gazed up at Hiram +with amazement struggling with the rage expressed in his features. + +“I told you we were not well matched, Peter,” spoke Hiram, calmly. “Why +fight about it? You have no right on your side, and I do not propose to +see Mrs. Atterson robbed of this water privilege.” + +Pete climbed to his feet slowly, and picked up his coat. He felt of his +neck carefully and then looked at his hand, with the idea evidently that +such a heavy blow must have brought blood. But of course there was none. + +“I'll tell my dad--that's what I'll do,” ejaculated the bully, at +length, and he started immediately across the field, his long legs +working like a pair of tongs in his haste to get over the ground. + +But Hiram completed the setting of the posts at the water-hole without +hearing further from any member of the Dickerson family. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. THE UPROOTING + +These early Spring days were busy ones for Hiram Strong. The mornings +were frosty and he could not get to his fencing work until midforenoon. +But there were plenty of other tasks ready to his hand. + +There were two south windows in the farmhouse kitchen. He tried to keep +some fire in the stove there day and night, sleeping as he did in Uncle +Jeptha's old bedroom nearby. + +Before these two windows he erected wide shelves and on these he set +shallow boxes of rich earth which he had prepared under the cart shed. +There was no frost under there, the earth was dry and the hens had +scratched in it during the winter, so Hiram got all the well-sifted +earth he needed for his seed boxes. + +He used a very little commercial fertilizer in each box, and planted +some of the seeds he had bought in Crawberry at an agricultural +warehouse on Main Street. + +Mrs. Atterson had expressed the hope that he would put in a variety of +vegetables for their own use, and Hiram had followed her wishes. When +the earth in the boxes had warmed up for several days he put in the +long-germinating seeds, like tomato, onions, the salads, leek, celery, +pepper, eggplant, and some beet seed to transplant for the early garden. +It was too early yet to put in cabbage and cauliflower. + +These boxes caught the sun for a good part of the day. In the afternoon +when the sun had gone, Hiram covered the boxes with old quilts and did +not uncover them again until the sun shone in the next morning. He had +decided to start his early plants in this way because he hadn't the time +at present to build frames outside. + +During the early mornings and late afternoons, too, he began to make the +small repairs around the house and outbuildings. Hiram was handy with +tools; indeed, a true farmer should be a good mechanic as well. He must +often combine carpentry and wheelwrighting and work at the forge, with +his agricultural pursuits. Hiram was something better than a “cold-iron +blacksmith.” + +When it came to stretching the wire of the pasture fence he had to +resort to his inventive powers. There are plenty of wire stretchers that +can be purchased; but they cost money. + +The young farmer knew that Mrs. Atterson had no money to waste, and he +worked for her just as he would have worked for himself. + +One man working alone cannot easily stretch wire and make a good job +of it without some mechanism to help him. Hiram's was simple and easily +made. + +A twelve-inch section of perfectly round post, seven or eight inches +through, served as the drum around which to wind the wire, and two +twenty-penny nails driven into the side of the drum, close together, +were sufficient to prevent the wire from slipping. + +To either end of the drum Hiram passed two lengths of Number 9 wire +through large screweyes, making a double loop into which the hook of a +light timber chain would easily catch. Into one end of the drum he drove +a headless spike, upon which the hand-crank of the grindstone fitted, +and was wedged tight. + +In using this ingenious wire stretcher, he stapled his wire to post +number one, carried the length past post number two, looped the chain +around post number three, having the chain long enough so that he might +tauten the wire and hold the crankhandle steady with his knee or left +arm while he drove the holding staple in post number two. And so repeat, +ad infinitum. + +After he had made this wire-stretcher the young fellow got along +famously upon his fencing and could soon turn his attention to other +matters, knowing that the cattle would be perfectly safe in the pasture +for the coming season. + +The old posts he collected on the wagon and drew into the dooryard, +piling them beside the woodshed. There was not an overabundant supply +of firewood cut and Hiram realized that Mrs. Atterson would use +considerable in her kitchen stove before the next winter, even if she +did not run a sitting room fire for long this spring. + +Using a bucksaw is not only a thankless job at any time, but it is no +saving of time or money. There was a good two-handed saw in the shed and +Hiram found a good rat-tail file. With the aid of a home-made saw-holder +and a monkey wrench he sharpened and set this saw and then got Henry +Pollock to help him for a day. + +Henry wasn't afraid of work, and the two boys sawed and split the old +and well-seasoned posts, and some other wood, so that Hiram was enabled +to pile several tiers of stove-wood under the shed against the coming of +Mrs. Atterson to her farm. + +“If the season wasn't so far advanced, I could cut a lot of wood, draw +it up, and hire a gasoline engine and saw to come on the place and saw +us enough to last a year. I'll do that next winter,” Hiram said. + +“That's what we all ought to do,” agreed his friend. + +Henry Pollock was an observing farmer's boy and through him Hiram gained +many pointers as to the way the farmers in that locality put in their +crops and cultivated them. + +He learned, too, through Henry who was supposed to be the best farmer +in the neighborhood, who had special success with certain crops, and who +had raised the best seedcorn in the locality. + +It was not particularly a trucking community; although, since Scoville +had begun to grow so fast and many city people had moved into that +pleasant town, the local demand for garden produce had increased. + +“It used to be a saying here,” said Henry, “that a bushel of winter +turnips would supply all the needs of Scoville. But that ain't exactly +so now. + +“The stores all want green stuff in season, and are beginning to pay +cash for truck instead of only offering to exchange groceries for the +stuff we raise. I guess if a man understood truck raising he could make +something in this market.” + +Hiram decided that this was so, on looking over the marketing +possibilities of Scoville. + +There was a canning factory which put up string beans, corn, and +tomatoes; but the prices per hundred-weight for these commodities did +not encourage Hiram to advise Mrs. Atterson to try and raise anything +for the canneries. A profit could not be made out of such crops on a +one-horse farm. + +For instance, the neighboring farmers did not plant their tomato seeds +until it was pretty safe to do so in the open ground. The cannery did +not want the tomato pack to come on until late in August. By that time +the cream of the prices for garden-grown tomatoes had been skimmed by +the early truckers. + +The same with sweet corn and green beans. The cannery demanded these +vegetables at so late a date that the market-price was generally low. + +These facts Hiram bore in mind as he planned his season's work, and +especially the kitchen garden. This latter he planned to be about two +acres in extent--rather a large plot, but he proposed to set his rows +of almost every vegetable far enough apart to be worked with a horse +cultivator. + +Some crops--for instance onions, carrots, and other “fine stuff”--must +be weeded by hand to an extent, and if the soil is rich enough rows +twelve or fifteen inches apart show better results. + +Between such rows a wheelhoe can be used to good advantage, and that +was one tool--with a seed-sowing combination--that Hiram had told Mrs. +Atterson she must buy if he was to practically attend to the whole farm +for her. Hand-hoeing, in both field and garden crops, is antediluvian. + +Thus, during this week and a half of preparation, Hiram made ready for +the uprooting of Mrs. Atterson from the boarding house in Crawberry to +the farm some distance out of Scoville. + +The good lady had but one wagon load of goods to be transferred from +her old quarters to the new home. Many of the articles she brought were +heirlooms which she had stored in the boarding house cellar, or articles +associated with her happy married life, which had been shortened by her +husband's death when he was comparatively a young man. + +These Mrs. Atterson saw piled on the wagon early on Saturday morning, +and she had insisted upon climbing upon the seat beside the driver +herself and riding with him all the way. + +The boarders gathered on the steps to see her go. The two spinster +ladies had already taken possession, and had served breakfast to the +disgruntled members of Mother Atterson's family. + +“You'll be back again,” prophesied Mr. Crackit, shaking the old lady by +the hand. “And when you do, just let me know. I'll come and board with +you.” + +“I wouldn't have you in my house again, Fred Crackit, for two farms,” + declared the ex-boarding house keeper, with asperity. + +“I hope you told these people about my hot water, Mrs. Atterson,” + croaked Mr. Peebles, from the step, where he stood muffled in a shawl +because of the raw morning air. + +“If I didn't you can tell 'em yourself,” returned she, with +satisfaction. + +And so it went--the good-byes of these unappreciative boarders selfish +to the last! Mother Atterson sighed--a long, happy, and satisfying +sigh--when the lumbering wagon turned the first corner. + +“Thanks be!” she murmured. “I sha'n't care if they don't have a driblet +of gravy at supper tonight.” + +Then she shook herself and stared straight ahead. On the very next +corner--she had insisted that none of the other people at the house +should observe their flitting--stood two figures, both forlorn. + +Old Lem Camp, with a lean suit-case at his feet, and Sister with a +bulging carpetbag which she had brought with her months before from the +charity institution, and into which she had stuffed everything she owned +in the world. + +Their faces brightened perceptibly when they beheld Mrs. Atterson +perched high beside the driver on the load of furniture and bedding. The +driver drew in his span of big horses and the wheels grated against the +curb. + +“You climb right in behind, Mr. Camp,” said the good lady. “There's room +for you up under the canvas top--and I had him spread a mattress so't +you can take it easy all the way, if you like. + +“Sister, you scramble up here and sit in betwixt me and this man. And do +look out--you're spillin' things out o' that bag like it was a Christmas +cornucopia. Come on, now! Toss it behind us, onto them other things. +There! we'll go on--and no more stops, I hope, till we reach the farm.” + +But that couldn't be. It was a long drive, and the man was good to his +team. He rested them at the top of every hill, and sometimes at the +bottom. They had to stop two hours for dinner and to “breathe 'em,” as +the man said. + +At that time Mother Atterson produced a goodsized market basket--her +familiar companion when she had hunted bargains in the city--and it was +filled with sandwiches, and pickles, and crackers, and cookies, and +a whole boiled fowl (fowl were cheaper and more satisfying than the +scrawny chickens then in market) and hard-boiled eggs, and cheese, with +numbers of other less important eatables tucked into corners of the +basket to “wedge” the larger packages of food. + +The four picnicked in the sun, with the furniture wagon to break the +keen wind, passing around hot coffee in a can, from hand to hand, the +driver having built a campfire to heat the coffee beside the country +road. + +But after that stop--for they were well into the country now--there was +no keeping Sister on the wagon-seat. She had learned to drop down and +mount again as lively as a cricket. + +She tore along the edge of the road, with her hair flying, and her hat +hanging by its ribbons. She chased a rabbit, and squirrels, and picked +certain green branches, and managed to get her hands and the front of +her dress all “stuck up” with spruce gum in trying to get a piece big +enough to chew. + +“Drat the young'un!” exclaimed Mother Atterson. “I can see plainly +I'd never ought to brought her, but should have sent her back to the +institution. She'll be as wild as Mr. March's hare--whoever he was--out +here in the country.” + +But Old Lem Camp gave her no trouble. He effaced himself just as he had +at the boarding house supper table. He seldom spoke--never unless he was +spoken to; and he lay up under the roof of the furniture wagon, whether +asleep, or no, Mrs. Atterson could not tell. + +“He's as odd as Dick's hat-band,” the ex-boarding house mistress +confided to the driver. “But, bless you! the easiest critter to get +along with--you never saw his beat. If I'd a house full of Lem Camps to +cook for, I'd think I was next door to heaven.” + +It was dusk when they arrived in sight of the little house beside the +road in which Uncle Jeptha Atterson had lived out his long life. Hiram +had a good fire going in both the kitchen and sitting room, and the +lamplight flung through the windows made the place look cheerful indeed +to the travelers. + +“My soul and body!” croaked the good lady, when she got down from the +wagon and Hiram caught her in his arms to save her from a fall. “I'm as +stiff as a poker--and that's a fact. But I'm glad to get here.” + +Hiram's amazement when he saw Sister and Old Lem Camp was only expressed +in his look. He said nothing. The driver of the wagon backed it to the +porch step and then took out his team and, with Hiram's help, led them +to the stable, fed them, and bedded them down for the night. He was to +sleep in one of the spare beds and go back to town the following day. + +Mother Atterson took off her best dress, slipped into a familiar old +gingham and bustled around the kitchen as naturally as though she had +been there all her life. + +She fried ham and eggs, and made biscuit, and opened a couple of tins of +peaches she had brought, and finally set before them a repast satisfying +if not dainty, and seasoned with a cheerful spirit at least. + +“I vum!” she exclaimed, sitting down for the first time in years “at the +first table.” “If this don't beat Crawberry and them boarders, I'm crazy +as a loon. Pour the coffee, Sister--and don't be stingy with the milk. +Milk's only five cents a quart here, and it's eight in town. But, +gracious, child! sugar don't cost no less.” + +Old Lem Camp sat beside Hiram, as he had at the boarding-house table. He +had scarcely spoken since his arrival; but now, under cover of the talk +of Mother Atterson, the driver of the furniture van, and Sister, he +began one of his old-time monologues: + +“Old, old--nothing to look forward to--then the prospect opens up--just +like light breaking through the clouds after a storm--let's see; I want +a piece of bread--bread's on Sister's side--I can reach it--hum! no +Crackit to-night--fool jokes--silly fellow--ah! the butter--Where's the +butterknife?--Sister's forgotten the butter-knife--no! here 'tis--That +woman's an angel--nothing less--an angel in a last season's bonnet and a +shabby gown--Hah! practical angels couldn't use wings--they'd be in the +way in the kitchen--ham and eggs--gravy--fit for gods to eat--and not to +worry again where next week's victuals are to come from!” + +Hiram noted all the old mail said, and the last phrase enlightened him +immensely as to why Old Lem Camp was so “queer.” That was the trouble +on the old man's mind--the trouble that had stifled him, and made him +appear “half cracked” as the boarding-house jester and Peebles had said. + +Lem Camp, too old to ever get another job in the city, had for five +years been worrying from day to day about his bare existence. And +evidently he saw that bogie of the superannuated disappearing in the +distance. + +After the truck driver had gone to bed, and Camp himself, and Sister had +fallen asleep over the last of the dish-wiping, Mother Atterson confided +in Hiram, to a degree. + +“Now, this gal can be made useful. She can help me in the house, and she +can help outside, too. + +“She's a poor, unfortunate creature--I know and humbly is no name for +her looks! But mebbe we can send her to the school nearby, and she ought +to get some color in her face if she's out o' doors some--and some flesh +on her skinny body. + +“I don't know as I could get along without Sister,” ruminated Mother +Atterson, shaking her head. + +“And as for Lem Camp--bless you! he won't eat more'n a fly, and who else +would give him houseroom? Why, Hiram, I just had to bring him with me. +If I hadn't, I'd felt just as conscience-stricken as though I'd moved +and left a cat behind in an empty house!” + + + +CHAPTER XIV. GETTING IN THE EARLY CROPS + +Mother Atterson had breakfast the next morning by lamplight, because the +truckman wanted to make an early start. + +Hiram had already begun early rising, however, for the farmer who does +not get up before the sun in the spring needs must do his chores at +night by lantern-light. The eight-hour law can never be a rule on the +farm. + +But Sister was up, too, and out of the house, running as wild as a +rabbit. Hiram caught her in the barnyard trying to clamber on the cow's +back to ride her about the enclosure. Sister was afraid of nothing that +lived and walked, having all the courage of ignorance. + +She found that she could not in safety clamber over the pig-lot fence +and catch one of the shoats. Old Mother Hog ran at her with open mouth +and Sister came back from that expedition with a torn frock and some new +experience. + +“I never knew anything so fat could run,” she confided to Hiram. “Old +Missus Poundly, who lived on our block, and weighed three hundred +pounds, couldn't run, I bet!” + +Mr. Camp was not disturbed by Mrs. Atterson, but was allowed to sleep as +long as he liked, while she kept a little breakfast hot for him and the +coffeepot on the back of the stove. + +The old lady became interested at once in all Hiram had done toward +beginning the spring work. She learned about the seed in the window +boxes (some of them were already breaking the soil) about watering them +and covering them properly and immediately took those duties off Hiram's +hands. + +“If Sister an' me can't do the light chores around this place and leave +you to 'tend to the bigger things, then we ain't no good and had better +go back to the boarding house,” she announced. + +“Oh, Mis' Atterson! You wouldn't go back to town, would you?” pleaded +Sister. “Why, there's real hens--and a cow that will give milk bimeby, +Hi says--and a horse that wiggles his ears and talks right out loud when +he's hungry, for I heard him--and pigs that squeal and run, an' they're +jest as fat as butter----” + +“Well, to stay here we've all got to work, Sister,” declared her +mistress. “So get at them dishes now and be quick about it. +There's forty times more chores to do here than there was back in +Crawberry--But, thanks be! there ain't no gravy to worry about.” + +“And there ain't no boarders to make fun of me,” said Sister, +thoughtfully. Then, she announced, after some rumination: “I like pigs +better than I do boarders Mis' Atterson.” + +“Well, I should think you would!” exclaimed that lady, tartly. “Pigs has +got some sense.” + +Hiram laughed at this. “You'll find the pigs demanding gravy, just the +same--and very urgent about it they are, too,” he told them. + +But he was glad to give the small chores over into their hands, and went +to work immediately to prepare for putting in the early crops. + +He had already cleared the rubbish off the piece of ground selected +for the garden, and had burned it. He hauled out stable manure from +the barnyard and gave an acre and a half of this piece of land a good +dressing. + +The other half-acre was for early potatoes, and he wished to put the +manure in the furrow for them, so did not top dress that strip of land. +The frost was pretty well out of the ground by now; but even if some +remained, plowing this high, well-drained piece would do no harm. +Beside, Hiram was eager to get in early crops. + +It was a still, hazy morning when he geared the old horse to the plow +and headed him into the garden piece. He had determined to plow the +entire plot at once, and instead of plowing “around and around” had +paced off his lands and started in the middle, plowing “gee” instead of +“haw”. + +This system is a bit more particular, and hard for the careless plowman; +but it overcomes that unsightly “dead-furrow” in the middle of a field +and brings the “finishing-furrow” on the edge. This insures better +surface drainage and is a more scientific method of tillage. + +The plow was rusty and the point was not in the very best condition; but +after the first few rounds the share was cleaned off, and it began to +slip through the moist earth and roll it over in a long, brown ribbon +behind him. + +Hiram Strong clung to the plow handles, a rope-rein in each hand, and +watched the plow and the horse and the land ahead with an eye as keen as +that of a river-pilot. + +As the strip of turned earth grew wider and longer Sister ran out to see +him work. She watched the plow turn the mulch into the furrow and lay +the brown, greasy mold upon it, with wide-open eyes. + +“Why!” cried she, “wouldn't it be nice if we could go right along with +a plow and bury our past like that--cover everything mean and nasty +up, and forget it! That institution they put me in--and the old woman +I lived with before that, who drank so much gin and beat me--and the +boarders--and that boy who used to pull my braids whenever he met me--My +that would be fine!” + +“I reckon that is what Life does do for us,” returned Hiram, +thoughtfully, stopping at the end of the furrow to mop his brow and let +the old horse breathe. “Yes, sir! Life plows all the experience under, +and it ought to enrich our future existence, just as this stuff I'm +plowing under here will decay and enrich the soil.” + +“But the plow don't turn it quite under in spots,” said Sister, with +a sigh. “Leastways, I can't help remembering the bad things once in a +while.” + +There were certain other individuals who found out very soon that Hiram +was plowing, too. Those were the hens. There were not more than fifteen +or twenty of the scrubby creatures, and they began to follow the plow +and pick up grubs and worms. + +“I tell you one thing that I've got to do before we put in much,” Hiram +told the ex-boarding house mistress at noon. + +“What's that, Hi? Don't go very deep down into my pocket, for it won't +stand it. After paying my bills, and paying for moving out here, I ain't +got much money left--and that's a fact!” + +“It won't cost much, but we've got to have a yard for the hens. Hens and +a garden will never mix successfully. Unless you enclose them you might +as well have no garden in that spot where I'm plowing.” + +“There warn't but five eggs to-day,” said Mrs. Atterson. “Mebbe we'd +better chop the heads off 'em, one after the other, and eat 'em.” + +“They'll lay better as it grows warmer. That henhouse must be fixed +before next winter. It's too draughty,” said Hi. “And then, hens can't +lay well--especially through the winter--if they haven't the proper kind +of food.” + +“But three or four of the dratted things want to stay on the nest all +the time,” complained the old lady. + +“If I was you, Mrs. Atterson,” Hiram said, soberly, “I'd spend five +dollars for a hundred eggs of well-bred stock. + +“I'd set these hens as fast as they get broody, and raise a decent flock +of biddies for next year. Scrub hens are just as bad as scrub cows. The +scrubs will eat quite as much as full-bloods, yet the returns from the +scrubs are much less.” + +“I declare!” exclaimed Mrs. Atterson, “a hen's always been just a hen +to me--one's the same as another, exceptin' the feathers on some is +prettier.” + +“To-night I'll show you some breeders' catalogs and you can think the +matter over as to what kind of a fowl you want,” said the young farmer. + +He went back to his job after dinner and kept steadily at work until +three o'clock before there came a break. Then he saw a carriage drive +into the yard, and a few moments later a man In a long gray coat came +striding across the lot toward him. + +Hiram knew the gentleman at once--it was Mr. Bronson, the father of +the girl he had saved from the runaway. To tell the truth, the boy +had rather wondered about his non-appearance during the days that +had elapsed. But now he came with hand held out, and his first words +explained the seeming omission: + +“I've been away for more than a week, my boy, or I should have seen you +before. You're Hiram Strong, aren't you--the boy my little girl has been +talking so much about?” + +“I don't know how much Miss Lettie has been talking about me,” laughed +Hiram. “Full and plenty, I expect.” + +“And small blame to her,” declared Mr. Bronson. “I won't waste time +telling you how grateful I am. I had just time to turn that boy of +Dickerson's off before I was called away. Now, my lad, I want you to +come and work for me.” + +“Why, much as I might like to, sir, I couldn't do that,” said Hiram. + +“Now, now! we'll fix it somehow. Lettie has set her heart on having you +around the place. + +“You're the second young man I've been after whom I was sure would suit +me, since we moved on to the old Fleigler place. The first fellow I +can't find; but don't tell me that I am going to be disappointed in you, +too.” + +“Mr. Bronson,” said Hiram, gravely, “I'm sorry to say 'No.' A little +while ago I'd have been delighted to take up with any fair offer you +might have made me. But I have agreed with Mrs. Atterson to run her +place for two seasons.” + +“Two years!” exclaimed Mr. Bronson. + +“Yes, sir. Practically. I must put her on her feet and make the old farm +show a profit.” + +“You're pretty young to take such responsibility upon your shoulders, +are you not?” queried the gentleman, eyeing him curiously. + +“I'm seventeen. I began to work with my father as soon as I could lift +a hoe. I love farm work. And I've passed my word to stick to Mrs. +Atterson.” + +“That's the old lady up to the house?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“But she wouldn't hold you to your bargain if she saw you could better +yourself, would she?” + +“She would not have to,” Hiram said, firmly, and he began to feel a +little disappointed in his caller. “A bargain's a bargain--there's no +backing out of it.” + +“But suppose I should make it worth her while to give you up?” pursued +Mr. Bronson. “I'll sound her a bit, eh? I tell you that Lettie has set +her heart on having you, as we cannot find another chap whom we were +looking for.” + +Now, Hiram knew that this referred to him; but he said nothing. Besides, +he did not feel too greatly pleased that the strongest reason for Mr. +Bronson's wishing to hire him was his little daughter's demand. It was +just a fancy of Miss Lettie's. And another day, she might have the fancy +to turn him off. + +“No, sir,” spoke Hiram, more firmly. “It is useless. I am obliged to +you; but I must stick by Mrs. Atterson.” + +“Well, my lad,” said the Westerner, putting out his hand again. “I am +glad to see you know how to keep a promise, even if it isn't to your +advantage. And I am grateful to you for turning that trick for my little +girl the other day.” + +“I hope you'll come over and see us--and I shall watch your work here. +Most of these fellows around here are pretty slovenly farmers in my +estimation; I hope you will do better than the average.” + +He went back across the field and Hiram returned to his plowing. The +young farmer saw the bay horses driven slowly out of the yard and along +the road. + +He saw the flutter of a scarf from the carriage and knew that Lettie +Bronson was with her father; but she did not look out at him as he +toiled behind the old horse in the furrow. + +However, there was no feeling of disappointment in Hiram Strong's +mind--and this fact somewhat surprised him. He had been so attracted by +the girl, and had wished in the beginning so much to be engaged by Mr. +Bronson, that he had considered it a mighty disappointment when he had +lost the Westerner's card. + +However, his apathy in the matter was easily explained. He had taken +hold of the work on the Atterson place. His plans were growing in his +mind for the campaign before him. His interest was fastened upon the +contract he had made with the old lady. + +His hand was, literally now, “to the plow”--and he was not looking back. + +He finished the piece that day, and likewise drew out some lime that he +had bought at Scoville and spread it broadcast upon all the garden patch +save that in which he intended to put potatoes. + +Although it is an exploded doctrine that the application of lime to +potato ground causes scab, it is a fact that it will aid in spreading +the disease. Hiram was sure enough--because of the sheep-sorrel on the +piece--that it all needed sweetening, but he decided against the lime at +this time. + +As soon as Hiram had drag-harrowed the piece he laid off two rows down +the far end, as being less tempting to the straying hens, and planted +early peas--the round-seeded variety, hardier than the wrinkled kinds. +These pea-rows were thirty inches apart, and he dropped the peas by hand +and planted them very thickly. + +It doesn't pay to be niggardly with seed in putting in early peas, at +any rate--the thicker they come up the better, and in these low bush +varieties the thickly growing vines help support each other. + +This garden piece--almost two acres--was oblong in shape. An acre is +just about seventy paces square. Hiram's garden was seventy by a hundred +and forty paces, or thereabout. + +Therefore, the young farmer had two seventy-yard rows of peas, or over +four hundred feet of drill. He planted two quarts of peas at a cost of +seventy cents. + +With ordinary fortune the crop should be much more than sufficient for +the needs of the house while the peas were in a green state, for being a +quick growing vegetable, they are soon past. + +Hiram, however, proposed putting in a surplus of almost everything he +planted in this big garden--especially of the early vegetables--for he +believed that there would be a market for them in Scoville. + +The ground was very cold yet, and snow flurries swept over the field +every few days; but the peas were under cover and were off his mind; +Hiram knew they would be ready to pop up above the surface just as soon +as the warm weather came in earnest, and peas do not easily rot in the +ground. + +In two weeks, or when the weather was settled, he proposed planting +other kinds of peas alongside these first two rows, so as to have a +succession up to mid-summer. + +Next the young farmer laid off his furrows for early potatoes. He had +bought a sack of an extra-early variety, yet a potato that, if left +in the ground the full length of the season, would make a good winter +variety--a “long keeper.” + +His potato rows he planned to have three feet apart, and he plowed the +furrows twice, so as to have them clean and deep. + +Henry Pollock happened to come by while he was doing this, and stopped +to talk and watch Hiram. To tell the truth, Henry and his folks were +more than a little interested in what the young farmer would do with the +Atterson place. + +Like other neighbors they doubted if the stranger knew as much about the +practical work of farming as he claimed to know. “That feller from +the city,” the neighbors called Hiram behind his back, and that is an +expression that completely condemns a man in the mind of the average +countryman. + +“What yer bein' so particular with them furrers for, Hiram?” asked +Henry. + +“If a job's worth doing at all, it's worth doing well, isn't it?” + laughed the young farmer. + +“We spread our manure broadcast--when we use any at all--for potatoes,” + said Henry, slowly. “Dad says if manure comes in contact with potatoes, +they are apt to rot.” + +“That seems to be a general opinion,” replied Hiram. “And it may be so +under certain conditions. For that reason I am going to make sure that +not much of this fertilizer comes in direct contact with my seed.” + +“How'll you do that?” “I'll show you,” said Hiram. + +Having run out his rows and covered the bottom of each furrow several +inches deep with the manure, he ran his plow down one side of each +furrow and turned the soil back upon the fertilizer, covering it and +leaving a well pulverized seed bed for the potatoes to lie in. + +“Well,” said Henry, “that's a good wrinkle, too.” + +Hiram had purchased some formalin, mixed it with water according to the +Government expert's instructions, and from time to time soaked his seed +potatoes two hours in the antiseptic bath. In the evening he brought +them into the kitchen and they all--even Old Lem Camp--cut up the +potatoes, leaving two or three good eyes in each piece. + +“I'd ruther do this than peel 'em for the boarders,” remarked Sister, +looking at her deeply-stained fingers reflectively. “And then, nobody +won't say nothin' about my hands to me when I'm passin' dishes at the +table.” + +The following day she helped Hiram drop the seed, and by night he had +covered them by running his plow down the other side of the row and +then smoothed the potato plat with a home-made “board” in lieu of a +land-roller. + +It was the twentieth of March, and not a farmer in the locality had yet +put in either potatoes, or peas. Some had not as yet plowed for early +potatoes, and Henry Pollock warned Hiram that he was “rushing the +season.” + +“That may be,” declared the young farmer to Mrs. Atterson. “But I +believe the risk is worth taking. If we do get 'em good, we'll get 'em +early and skim the cream of the local market. Now, you see!” + + + +CHAPTER XV. TROUBLE BREWS + +“Old Lem Camp,” as he had been called for so many years that there +seemed no disrespect in the title, was waking up. Not many mornings was +he a lie-abed. And the lines in his forehead seemed to be smoothing out, +and his eyes had lost something of their dullness. + +It was true that, at first, he wandered about the farmstead muttering +to himself in his old way--an endless monologue which was a jumble of +comment, gratitude, and the brief memories of other days. It took some +time to adjust his poor mind to the fact that he had no longer to +fear that Poverty which had stalked ever before him like a threatening +spirit. + +Gratitude spurred him to the use of his hands. He was not a broken +man--not bodily. Many light tasks soon fell to his share, and Mrs. +Atterson told Hiram and Sister to let him do what he would. To busy +himself would be the best thing in the world for the old fellow. + +“That's what's been the matter with Mr. Camp for years,” she declared, +with conviction. “Because he passed the sixty-year mark, and it was +against the practise of the paper company to keep employees on the +payroll over that age, they turned Lem Camp off. + +“Ridiculous! He was just as well able to do the tasks that he had +learned to do mechanically as he had been any time for the previous +twenty years. He had worked in that office forty years, and more, you +understand. + +“That's the worst thing about a corporation of that kind--it has no +thought beyond its 'rules.' Old Mr. Bundy remembered Lem--that's all. +If he hadn't so much stock in the concern they'd turn him off, too. I +expect he knows it and that's what softened his heart to Old Lem. + +“Now, let Lem take hold of whatever he can do, and git interested in +it,” declared the practical Mrs. Atterson, “and he'll show you that +there's work left in him yet. Yes-sir-ree-sir! And if he'll work in the +open air, all the better for him.” + +There was plenty for everybody to do, and Hiram would not say the old +man nay. The seed boxes needed a good deal of attention, for they were +to be lifted out into the air on warm days, and placed in the sun. And +Old Lem could do this--and stir the soil in them, and pull out the grass +and other weeds that started. + +Hiram had planted early cabbage and cauliflower and egg-plant in other +boxes, and the beets were almost big enough to transplant to the open +ground. Beets are hardy and although hair-roots are apt to form on +transplanted garden beets, the transplanting aids the growth in other +ways and Hiram expected to have table-beets very early. + +In the garden itself he had already run out two rows of later beets, the +width of the plot. Bunched beets will sell for a fair price the whole +season through. + +Hiram was giving his whole heart and soul to the work--he was wrapped up +in the effort to make the farm pay. And for good reason. + +It was “up to him” to not alone turn a profit for his employer, and +himself; but he desired--oh, how strongly!--to show the city folk who +had sneered at him that he could be a success in the right environment. + +Besides, and in addition, Hiram Strong was ambitious--very ambitious +indeed for a youth of his age. He wanted to own a farm of his own in +time--and it was no “one-horse farm” he aimed at. + +No, indeed! Hiram had read of the scientific farming of the Middle West, +and the enormous tracts in the Northwest devoted to grain and other +staple crops, where the work was done for the most part by machinery. + +He longed to see all this--and to take part in it. He desired the big +things in farming, nor would he ever be content to remain a helper. + +“I'm going to be my own boss, some day--and I'm going to boss other men. +I'll show these fellows around here that I know what I want, and when I +get it I'll handle it right!” Hiram soliloquized. + +“It's up to me to save every cent I can. Henry thinks I'm niggardly, +I expect, because I wouldn't go to town Saturday night with him. But I +haven't any money to waste. + +“The hundred I'm to get next Christmas from Mrs. Atterson I don't wish +to draw on at all. I'll get along with such old clothes as I've got.” + +Hiram was not naturally a miser; he frequently bought some little thing +for Sister when he went to town--a hair-ribbon, or the like, which he +knew would please the girl; but for himself he was determined to be +saving. + +At the end of his contract with Mrs. Atterson he would have two hundred +dollars anyway. But that was not the end and aim of Hiram Strong's +hopes. + +“It's the clause in our agreement about the profits of our second season +that is my bright and shining star,” he told the good lady more than +once. “I don't know yet what we had better put in next year to bring us +a fortune; but we'll know before it comes time to plant it.” + +Meanwhile the wheel-hoe and seeder he had insisted upon Mrs. Atterson +buying had arrived, and Hiram, after studying the instructions which +came with it, set the machine up as a seed-sower. Later, after the +bulk of the seeds were in the ground, he would take off the seeding +attachment and bolt on the hoe, or cultivator attachments, with which to +stir the soil between the narrower rows of vegetables. + +As he made ready to plant seeds such as carrot, parsnip, onion, salsify, +and leaf-beet, as well as spring spinach, early turnips, radishes and +kohlrabi, Hiram worked that part of his plowed land over again and again +with the spike harrow, finally boarding the strips down smoothly as +he wished to plant them. The seedbed must be as level as a floor, and +compact, for good use to be made of the wheel-seeder. + +When he had lined out one row with his garden line, from side to side of +the plowed strip, the marking arrangement attached to his seeder would +mark the following lines plainly, and at just the distance he desired. + +Onions, carrots, and the like, he put in fifteen inches apart, intending +to do all the cultivating of those extremely small plants with the +wheel-hoe, after they were large enough. But he foresaw the many hours +of cultivating before him and marked the rows for the bulk of the +vegetables far enough apart, as he had first intended, to make possible +the use of the horse-hoe. + +Meanwhile he spike-harrowed the potato patch, running cross-wise of the +rows to break the crust and keep down the quick-springing weed seeds. +The early peas were already above ground and when they were two inches +high Hiram ran his 14-tooth cultivator--or “seed harrow” as it is called +in some localities--close to the rows so as to throw the soil toward the +plants, almost burying them from sight again. This was to give the peas +deep rootage, which is a point necessary for the quick and stable growth +of this vegetable. + +In odd moments Hiram had cut and set a few posts, bought poultry netting +in Scoville, and enclosed Mrs. Atterson's chicken-run. She had taken his +advice and sent for eggs, and already had four hens setting and expected +to set the remainder of the of the eggs in a few days. + +Sister took an enormous interest in this poultry-raising venture. She +“counted chickens before they were hatched” with a vengeance, and after +reading a few of the poultry catalogs she figured out that, in three +years, from the increase of Mother Atterson's hundred eggs, the +eighty-acre farm would not be large enough to contain the flock. + +“And all from five dollars!” gasped Sister. “I don't see why everybody +doesn't go to raising chickens--then there'd be no poor folks, everybody +would be rich--Well! I expect there'd always have to be institutions for +orphans--and boarding houses!” + +The new-springing things from the ground, the “hen industry” and the +repairing and beautifying of the outside of the farmhouse did not take +up all their attention. There were serious matters to be discussed in +the evening, after the others had gone to bed, 'twixt Hiram and his +employer. + +There was the five or six acres of bottom land--the richest piece of +soil of the entire eighty. Hiram had not forgotten this, and the second +Sunday of their stay at the farm, after the whole family had attended +service at a chapel less than half a mile up the road, he had urged Mrs. +Atterson to walk with him through the timber to the riverside. + +“For the Land o' Goshen!” the ex-boarding house mistress had finally +exclaimed. “To think that I own all of this. Why, Hi, it don't seem as +if it was so. I can't get used to it. And this timber, you say, is all +worth money? And if I cut it off, it will grow up again----” + +“In thirty to forty years the pine will be worth cutting again--and some +of the other trees,” said Hiram, with a smile. + +“Well! that would be something for Sister to look forward to,” said +the old lady, evidently thinking aloud. “And I don't expect her +folks--whoever they be--will ever look her up now, Hiram.” + +“But with the timber cut and this side hill cleared, you would have a +very valuable thirty acres, or so, of tillage--valuable for almost any +crop, and early, too, for it slopes toward the sun,” said the young +farmer, ignoring the other's observation. + +“Well, well! it's wonderful,” returned Mrs. Atterson. + +But she listened attentively to what he had to say about clearing the +bottom land, which was a much more easily accomplished task, as Hiram +showed her. It would cost something to put the land into shape for +late corn, and so prepare it for some more valuable crop the following +season. + +“Well, nothing ventured, nothing have!” Mrs. Atterson finally agreed. +“Go ahead--if it won't cost much more than what you say to get the corn +in. I understand it's a gamble, and I'm taking a gambler's chance. +If the river rises and floods the corn in June, or July, then we get +nothing this season?” + +“That is a possibility,” admitted Hiram. + +“Go ahead,” exclaimed Mother Atterson. “I never did know that there was +sporting blood in me; but I kinder feel it risin', Hi, with the sap in +the trees. We'll chance it!” + +Occasionally Hiram had stepped down to the pasture and squinted across +to the water-hole. The grass was not long enough yet to turn the cow +into the field, so he was obliged to make these special trips to the +pasture. + +He had seen nothing of the Dickersons--to speak to, that is--since his +trouble with Pete. And, of a sudden, just before dinner one noon, Hiram +took a look at the pasture and beheld a figure seemingly working down in +the corner. + +Hiram ran swiftly in that direction. Half-way there he saw that it was +Pete, and that he had deliberately cut out a panel of the fence and was +letting a pair of horses he had been plowing with, drink at the pool, +before he took them home to the Dickerson stable. + +Hiram stopped running and recovered his breath before he reached the +lower corner of the pasture. Pete saw him coming, and grinned impudently +at him. + +“What are you doing here, Dickerson?” demanded the young farmer, +indignantly. + +“Well, if you wanter keep us out, you'd better keep up your fences +better,” returned Pete. “I seen the wires down, and it's handy----” + +“You cut those wires!” interrupted Hiram, angrily. + +“You're another,” drawled Pete, but grinning in a way to exasperate the +young farmer. + +“I know you did so.” + +“Wal, if you know so much, what are you going to do about it?” demanded +the other. “I guess you'll find that these wires will snap 'bout as fast +as you can mend 'em. Now, you can put that in your pipe an' smoke it!” + +“But I don't smoke.” Hiram observed, growing calm immediately. There was +no use in giving this lout the advantage of showing anger with him. + +“Mr. Smartie!” snarled Pete Dickerson. “Now, you see, there's somebody +just as smart as you be. These horses have drunk there, and they're +going to drink again.” + +“Is that your father yonder?” demanded Hiram, shortly. + +“Yes, it is.” + +“Call him over here.” + +“Why, if he comes over here, he'll eat you alive!” cried Pete, +laughing. “You don't know my dad.” + +“I don't; but I want to,” Hiram said, calmly. “That's why you'd better +call him over. I have got pretty well acquainted with you, and the rest +of your family can't be any worse, as I look at it. Call him over,” and +the young farmer stepped nearer to the lout. + +“You call him yourself!” cried Pete, beginning to back away, for he +remembered how he had been treated at his previous encounter with Hiram. + +Hiram seized the bridles of the work horses, and shook them out of +Pete's clutch. + +“Tell your father to come here,” commanded the young farmer, fire in his +eyes. “We'll settle this thing here and now. + +“These horses are on Mrs. Atterson's land. I know the county stock +law as well as you do. You cut this fence, and your cattle are on her +ground. + +“It will cost you a dollar a head to get them off again--if Mrs. +Atterson wishes to demand it. Now, call your father.” + +Pete raised a yell which startled the long-legged man striding over the +hill toward the Dickerson farmhouse. Hiram saw the older Dickerson turn, +stare, and then start toward them. + +Pete continued to beckon, and began to yell: + +“Dad! Dad! He won't let me have the hosses!” + +Sam Dickerson came striding down to the waterhole--a lean, long, +sour-looking man he was, with a brown face knotted into a continual +scowl, and hard, bony hands. Yet Hiram was not afraid of him. + +“What's the trouble here?” growled the farmer. + +“He's got the hosses. I told you the fence was down and I was goin' to +water 'em----” + +“Shut up!” commanded his father, eyeing Hiram. “I'm talking to this +fellow: What's the trouble here?” + +“Your horses are on Mrs. Atterson's land,” Hiram said, quietly. “You +know that stock which strays can be held for a dollar a head--damage or +no damage to crops. I warn you, keep your horses on your own land.” + +“That's your fence; if you don't keep it up, who's fault is it if my +horses get on your land?” growled Dickerson, evidently making the matter +a personal one with Hiram. + +“Your boy here cut the wires.” + +“No I didn't, Dad!” interposed Pete. + +Quick as a flash Hiram dropped the bridle reins, sprang for Pete, seized +him in a wrestler's grip, twisted him around, and tore from his pocket a +pair of heavy wire-cutters. + +“What were you doing with these in your pocket, then?” demanded Hiram, +disdainfully, tossing the plyers upon the ground at Pete's feet, and +stepping back to keep the restless horses from leaving the edge of the +water-hole. + +Sam Dickerson seemed to take a grim pleasure in his son's overthrow. He +growled: + +“He's got you there, Pete. You'd better stop monkeyin' around here. Pick +up them bridles and come on.” + +He turned to depart without another word to Hiram; but the latter did +not propose to be put off that way. + +“Hold on!” he called. “Who's going to mend this fence, Mr. Dickerson?” + +Dickerson turned and eyed him coldly again. + +“What's that to me? Mend your own fence,” he said. + +“Then I shall take these horses up to our barn. You can come and settle +the matter with Mrs. Atterson--unless you wish to pay me two dollars +here and now,” said the young farmer, his voice carrying clearly to +where the man stood upon the rising ground above him. + +“Why, you young whelp!” roared Dickerson, suddenly starting down the +slope. + +But Hiram Strong neither moved nor showed fear. Somehow, this sturdy +young fellow, in the high laced boots, with his flannel shirt open at +the throat, raw as was the day, his sleeves rolled back to his elbows, +was a figure to make even a more muscular man than Sam Dickerson +hesitate. + +“Pete!” exclaimed the farmer, harshly, still eyeing Hiram. “Run up to +the house and bring my shotgun. Be quick about it.” + +Hiram said never a word, and the horses, yoked together, began to crop +the short grass springing upon the bank of the water-hole. + +“You'll find out you're fooling with the wrong man, you whippersnapper!” + promised Dickerson. + +“You can pay me two dollars and I'll mend the fence; or you can mend the +fence and we'll call it square,” said Hiram, slowly, and evenly. “I'm a +boy, but I'm not to be frightened with a threat----” + +Pete's long legs brought him flying back across the fields. Nothing he +had done in a long while pleased him quite as much as this errand. + +Hiram turned, jerked at the horses' bridle-reins, turned them around, +and with a sharp slap on the nigh one's flank, sent them both trotting +up into the Atterson pasture. + +“Stop that, you rascal!” cried Dickerson, grabbing the gun from his +hopeful son, and losing his head now entirely. “Bring that team back!” + +“You mend the fence, and I will,” declared Hiram, unshaken. + +The angry man sprang down to his level, flourishing the gun in a way +that would have been dangerous indeed had Hiram believed it to be +loaded. And as it was, the young farmer was very angry. + +The right was on his side; if he allowed these Dickersons, father and +son, to browbeat him this once, it would only lead to future trouble. + +This thing had to be settled right here and now. It would never do for +Hiram to show fear. And if both of the long-legged Dickersons pitched +upon him, of course, he would be no match for them. + +But Sam Dickerson stumbled and almost fell as he reached the edge of the +water-hole, and before he could recover himself, Hiram leaped upon him, +seized the shotgun, and wrenched it from his hands. + +He reversed the weapon in a flash, clubbed it, and raised it over his +head with a threatening swing that made Pete yell from the top of the +bank: + +“Look out, Dad! He's a-goin' ter swat yer!” + +Sam tried to scramble out of the way. But down came the gun butt with +all the force of Hiram's good muscle, and--the stock was splintered and +the lock shattered upon the big stone that here cropped out of the bank. + +“There's your gun--what's left of it,” panted the young farmer, tossing +the broken weapon from him. “Now, don't you ever threaten me with a gun +again, for if you do I'll have you arrested. + +“We've got to be neighbors, and we've got to get along in a neighborly +manner. But I'm not going to allow you to take advantage of Mrs. +Atterson, because she is a woman. + +“Now, Mr. Dickerson,” he added, as the man scrambled up, glaring at him +evidently with more surprise than anger, “if you'll make Pete mend this +fence, you can have your horses. Otherwise I'm going to 'pound' them +according to the stock law of the county.” + +“Pete,” said his father, briefly, “go get your hammer and staples and +mend this fence up as good as you found it.” + +“And now,” said Hiram, “I'm going home to gear the horse to the wagon, +and I'll drive over to your house, Mr. Dickerson. From time to time you +have borrowed while Uncle Jeptha was alive quite a number of tools. I +want them. I have made inquiries and I know what tools they are. Just be +prepared to put them into my wagon, will you?” + +He turned on his heel without further words and left the Dickersons +to catch their horses, and to repair the fence--both of which they did +promptly. + +Not only that, but when Hiram drove into the Dickerson dooryard an hour +later he had no trouble about recovering the tools which the neighbor +had borrowed and failed to return. + +Pete scowled at him and muttered uncomplimentary remarks; but Sam +phlegmatically smoked his pipe and sat watching the young farmer without +any comment. + +“And so, that much is accomplished,” ruminated Hiram, as he drove home. +“But I'm not sure whether hostilities are finished, or have just begun.” + + + +CHAPTER XV. ONE SATURDAY AFTERNOON + +“The old Atterson place” as it was called in the neighborhood, began to +take on a brisk appearance these days. Sister, with the help of Old Lem +Camp, had long since raked the dooryard clean and burned the rubbish +which is bound to gather during the winter. + +Years before there had been flower beds in front; but Uncle Jeptha had +allowed the grass to overrun them. It was a month too early to think of +planting many flowers; but Hiram had bought some seeds, and he showed +Sister how to prepare boxes for them in the sunny kitchen windows, along +with the other plant boxes; and around the front porch he spaded up a +strip, enriched it well, and almost the first seeds put into the ground +on the farm were the sweet peas around this porch. Mother Atterson was +very fond of these flowers and had always managed to coax some of them +to grow even in the boarding-house back yard. + +At the side porch she proposed to have morning-glories and moon-flowers, +while the beds in front would be filled with those old-fashioned flowers +which everybody loves. + +“But if we can't make our own flower-beds, we can go without them, Hi,” + said the bustling old lady. “We mustn't take you from your other work +to spade beds for us. Every cat's got to catch mice on this place, now I +tell ye!” + +And Hiram certainly was busy enough these days. The early seeds were all +in, however, and he had run the seed-harrow over the potato rows again, +lengthwise, to keep the weeds out until the young plants should get a +start. + +Despite the raw winds and frosts at night, the potatoes had come up well +and, with the steadily warming wind and sun, would now begin to grow. +Other farmers' potatoes in the vicinity were not yet breaking the +ground. + +Early on Monday morning Henry Pollock appeared with bush-axe and +grubbing hoe, and Hiram shouldered similar tools and they started for +the river bottom. It was so far from the house that Mrs. Atterson agreed +to send their dinner to them. + +“Father says he remembers seeing corn growing on this bottom,” said +Henry, as they set to work, “so high that the ears were as high up as a +tall man. It's splendid corn land--if it don't get flooded out.” + +“And does the river often over-ran its banks?” queried Hiram, anxiously. + +“Pretty frequent. It hasn't yet this year; there wasn't much snow last +winter, you see, and the early spring floods weren't very high. But +if we have a long wet spell, as we do have sometimes as late as July, +you'll see water here.” + +“That's not very encouraging,” said Hiram. “Not for corn prospects, at +least.” + +“Well, corn's our staple crop. You see, if you raise corn enough you're +sure of feed for your team. That's the main point.” + +“But people with bigger farms than they have around here can raise corn +cheaper than we can. They use machinery in harvesting it, too. Why not +raise a better paying crop, and buy the extra corn you may need?” + +“Why,” responded Henry, shaking his head, “nobody around here knows much +about raising fancy crops. I read about 'em in the farm papers--oh, yes, +we take papers--the cheap ones. There is a lot of information in 'em, I +guess; but father don't believe much that's printed.” + +“Doesn't believe much that's printed?” repeated Hiram, curiously. + +“Nope. He says it's all lies, made up out of some man's head. You see, +we useter take books out of the Sunday School library, and we had story +papers, too; and father used to read 'em as much as anybody.” + +“But one summer we had a summer boarder--a man that wrote things. He +had one of these dinky little merchines with him that you play on like a +piano, you know----” + +“A typewriter?” suggested Hiram, with a smile. + +“Yep. Well, he wrote stories. Father learnt as how all that stuff was +just imaginary, and so he don't take no stock in printed stuff any more.” + +“That man just sat down at that merchine, and rattled off a story that +he got real money for. It didn't have to be true at all. + +“So father soured on it. And he says the stuff in the farm papers is +just the same.” + +“I'm afraid that your father is mistaken there,” said Hiram, hiding +his amusement. “Men who have spent years in studying agricultural +conditions, and experimenting with soils, and seeds, and plants, and +fertilizers, and all that, write what facts they have learned for our +betterment. + +“No trade in the world is so encouraged and aided by Governments, and by +private corporations, as the trade of farming. There is scarcely a State +which does not have a special agricultural college in which there are +winter courses for people who cannot give the open time of the year to +practical experiment on the college grounds. + +“That is what you need in this locality, I guess,” added Hiram. “Some +scientific farming.” + +“Book farming, father calls it,” said Henry. “And he says it's no good.” + +“Why don't you save your money and take a course next winter in some +side line and so be able to show him that he's wrong?” suggested Hiram. +“I want to do that myself after I have fulfilled my contract with Mrs. +Atterson. + +“I won't be able to do so next winter, for I shall be on wages. You're +going to be a farmer, aren't you?” + +“I expect to. We've got a good farm as farms go around here. But it +seems about all we can do to pay our fertilizer bills and get a living +off it.” + +“Then why don't you go about fitting yourself for your job?” “asked +Hiram. Be a good farmer--an up-to-date farmer. + +“No fellow expects to be a machinist, or an electrician, or the like, +without spending some time under good instructors. Most that I know +about soils, and fertilizers, and plant development, and the like, I +learned from my father, who kept abreast of the times by reading and +experiment. + +“You can stumble along, working at your trade of farming, and only half +knowing it all your life; that's what most farmers do, in fact. They are +too lazy to take up the scientific side of it and learn why. + +“That's the point--learn why you do things that your father did, and his +father did, and his father before him. There's usually good reason why +they did it--a scientific reason which somebody dug out by experiment +ages ago; but you ought to be able to tell why.” + +“I suppose that's so,” admitted Henry, as they worked on, side by side. +“But I don't know what father would say if I sprung a college course on +him!” + +“I'd find out,” returned Hiram, laughing. “You'd better spend your money +that way than for a horse and buggy. That's the highest ambition of most +boys in the country.” + +The labor of bushing and grubbing these acres of lowland was no light +one. Hiram insisted that every stub and root be removed that a heavy +plow could not tear out. They had made some progress by noon, however, +when Sister came down with their dinner. + +Hiram built a campfire over which the coffee was re-heated, and the +three ate together, Sister enjoying the picnic to the full. She insisted +on helping in the work by piling the brush and roots into heaps for +burning, and she remained until midafternoon. + +“I like that Henry boy,” she confided to Hiram. “He don't pull my braids, +or poke fun at me.” + +But Sister was developing and growing fast these days. She was putting +on flesh and color showed in her cheeks. They were no longer hollow and +sallow, and she ran like a colt-and was almost as wild. + +The work of clearing the bottom land could not be continued daily; but +the boys got in three full days that week, and Saturday morning. Henry, +did not wish to work on Saturday afternoon, for in this locality almost +all the farmers knocked off work at noon Saturday and went to town. + +But when Henry shouldered his tools to go home at noon, Sister appeared +as usual with the lunch, and she and Hiram cut fishing rods and planned +to have a real picnic. + +Trout and mullet were jumping in the pools under the bank; and they +caught several before stopping to eat their own meal. The freshly caught +fish were a fine addition to the repast. + +They went back to fishing after a while and caught enough for supper at +the farmhouse. Just as they were reeling up their lines the silence of +the place was disturbed by a strange sound. + +“There's a motorcycle coming!” cried Sister, jumping up and looking all +around. + +There was a bend in the river below this bottom, and another above; so +they could not see far in either direction unless they climbed to the +high ground. For a minute Hiram could not tell in which direction the +sound was coming; but he knew the steady put-put-put must be the exhaust +of a motor-boat. + +It soon poked its nose around the lower turn. It was a good-sized boat +and instantly Hiram recognized at least one person aboard. + +Miss Lettie Bronson, in a very pretty boating costume, was in the bow. +There were half a dozen other girls with her--well dressed girls, who +were evidently her friends from the St. Beris school at Scoville. + +“Oh, oh! what a pretty spot!” cried Lettie, on the instant. “We'll go +ashore here and have our luncheon, girls.” + +She did not see Hiram and Sister for a moment; but the latter tugged at +Hiram's sleeve. + +“I've seen that girl before,” she whispered. “She came in the carriage +with the man who spoke to you--you remember? She asked me if I had +always lived in the country, and how I tore my frock.” + +“Isn't she pretty?” returned Hiram. + +“Awfully. But I'm not sure that I like her yet.” + +Suddenly Lettie saw Hiram and the girl beside him. She started, flushed +a little, and then gave Hiram a cool little nod and turned her gaze from +him. Her manner showed that he was not “down in her good books,” and the +young fellow flushed in turn. + +“I don't know as we'd better try to make the bank here, Miss,” said the +man who was directing the motor-boat. “The current's mighty sharp.” + +“I want to land here,” said Lettie, decidedly. “It's the prettiest spot +we've seen--isn't it, girls?” + +Her friends agreed. Hiram, casting a quick eye over the ruffled surface +of the river, saw that the man was right. How well the stream below was +fitted for motor-boating he did not know; but he was pretty sure that +there were too many ledges just under the surface here to make it safe +for the boat to go farther. + +“I intend to land here-right by that big tree!” commanded Lettie +Bronson, stamping her foot. + +“Well, I dunno,” drawled the man; and just then the bow of the boat +swung around, was forced heavily down stream by the current, and slam it +went against a reef! + +The man shot off the engine instantly. The bow of the boat was lodged +on the rock, and tip-tilted considerably. The girls screamed, and Lettie +herself was almost thrown into the water, for she was standing. + + + +CHAPTER XVII. MR. PEPPER APPEARS + +But Hiram noted again that Lettie Bronson did not display terror. While +her friends were screaming and crying, she sat perfectly quiet, and for +a minute said never a word. + +“Can't you back off?” Hi heard her ask the boatman. + +“Not without lightening her, Miss. And she may have smashed a plank up +there, too. I dunno.” + +The Western girl turned immediately to Hiram, who had now come to the +bank's edge. She smiled at him charmingly, and her eyes danced. She +evidently appreciated the fact that the young farmer had her at a +disadvantage--and she had meant to snub him. + +“I guess you'll have to help me again, Mr. Strong,” she said. “What will +we do? Can you push out a plank to us, or something?” + +“I'm afraid not, Miss Bronson,” he returned. “I could cut a pole and +reach it to the boat; but you girls couldn't walk ashore on it.” + +“Oh, dear! have we got to wade?” cried one of Lettie's friends. + +“You can't wade. It's too deep between the shore and the boat,” Hiram +said, calmly. + +“Then--then we'll stay here till the tide rises and dr-dr-drowns us!” + wailed another of the girls, giving way to sobs. + +“Don't be a goose, Myra Carroll!” exclaimed Lettie. “If you waited here +for the tide to rise you'd be gray-haired and decrepit. The tide doesn't +rise here. But maybe a spring flood would wash you away.” + +At that the frightened one sobbed harder than ever. She was one of +those who ever see the dark side of adventure. There was no hope on her +horizon. + +“I dunno what you can do for these girls,” said the man. “I'd git out +and push off the boat, but I don't dare with them aboard.” + +But Hiram's mind had not been inactive, if he was standing in seeming +idleness. Sister tugged at his sleeve again and whispered: + +“Have they got to stay there and drown, Hi?” + +“I guess not,” he returned, slowly. “Let's see: this old sycamore +leans right out over them. I can shin up there with the aid of the big +grapevine. Then, if I had a rope----” + +“Shall I run and get one?” demanded Sister, listening to him. + +“Hullo!” exclaimed Hiram, speaking to the man in the boat. + +“Well?” asked the fellow. + +“Haven't you got a coil of strong rope aboard?” + +“There's the painter,” said the man. + +“Toss it ashore here,” commanded Hiram. + +“Oh, Hiram Strong!” cried Lettie. “You don't expect us to walk +tightrope, do you?” and she began to giggle. + +“No. I want you to unfasten the end of the rope. I want it clear--that's +it,” said Hiram. “And it's long enough, I can see.” + +“For what?” asked Sister. + +“Wait and you'll see,” returned the young farmer, hastily coiling the +rope again. + +He hung it over his shoulder and then started to climb the big sycamore. +He could go up the bole of this leaning tree very quickly, for the huge +grapevine gave him a hand-hold all the way. + +“Whatever are you going to do?” cried Lettie Bronson, looking up at him, +as did the other girls. + +“Now,” said Hiram, in the first small crotch of the tree, which was +almost directly over the stranded launch, “if you girls have any pluck +at all, I can get you ashore, one by one.” + +“What do you mean for us to do, Hiram?” repeated Lettie. + +The young farmer quickly fashioned a noose at the end of the line--not a +slipnoose, for that would tighten and hurt anybody bearing upon it. This +he dropped down to the boat and Lettie caught it. + +“Get your head and shoulders through that noose, Miss Bronson,” he +commanded. “Let it come under your arms. I will lift you out of the boat +and swing you back and forth--there's none of you so heavy that I can't +do this, and if you wet your feet a little, what's the odds?” + +“Oh, dear! I can never do that!” squealed one of the other girls. + +“Guess you'll have to do it if you don't want to stay here all night,” + returned Lettie, promptly. “I see what you want, Hiram,” she added, and +quickly adjusted the loop. + +“Now, when you swing out over the bank, Sister will grab you, and steady +you. It will be all right if you have a care. Now!” cried Hiram. + +Lettie Bronson showed no fear at all as he drew her up and she swung +out of the boat over the swiftly-running current. Hiram laid along the +tree-trunk in an easy position, and began swinging the girl at the end +of the rope, like a pendulum. + +The river bank being at least three feet higher than the surface of the +water; he did not have to shift the rope again as he swung the girl back +and forth. + +Sister, clinging with her left hand to the grapevine, leaned forward and +clutched Lettie's hand. When she seized it, Sister backed away, and the +swinging girl landed upright upon the bank. + +“Oh, that's fun!” Lettie cried, laughing, loosing herself from “the +loop. Now you come, Mary Judson!” + +Thus encouraged they responded one by one, and even the girl who had +broken down and cried agreed to be rescued by this simple means. The +boatman then, after removing his shoes and stockings and rolling up his +trousers, stepped out upon the sunken rock and pushed off the boat. + +But it was leaking badly. He dared not take aboard his passengers again, +but turned around and went down stream as fast as he could go so as to +beach the boat in a safe place. + +“Now how'll we get back to Scoville?” cried one of Lettie's friends. “I +can never walk that far.” + +Sister had dropped back, shyly, behind Hiram, when he descended the +tree. She had aided each girl ashore; but only Lettie had thanked her. +Now she tugged at Hiram's sleeve. + +“Take 'em home in our wagon,” she whispered. + +“I can take you to Scoville--or to Miss Bronson's--in the farm wagon,” + Hiram said, smiling. “You can sit on straw in the bottom and be +comfortable.” + +“Oh, a straw ride!” cried Lettie. “What fun! And he can drive us right +to St. Beris--And think what the other girls will say and how they'll +stare!” + +The idea seemed a happy one to all the girls save the cry-baby, Myra +Carroll. And her complaints were drowned in the laughter and chatter of +the others. + +Hiram picked up the tools, Sister got the string of fish, and they set +out for the Atterson farmhouse. Lettie chatted most of the way with +Hiram; but to Sister, walking on the other side of the young farmer, the +Western girl never said a word. + +At the house it was the same. While Hiram was cleaning the wagon and +putting a bed of straw into it, and currying the horse and gearing him +to the wagon, Mrs. Atterson brought a crock of cookies out upon the +porch and talked with the girls from St. Beris. Sister had run indoors +and changed her shabby and soiled frock for a new gingham; but when she +came down to the porch, and stood bashfully in the doorway, none of the +girls from town spoke to her. + +Hiram drove up with the farm-wagon. Most of the girls had accepted the +adventure in the true spirit now, and they climbed into the wagon-bed +on the clean straw with laughter and jokes. But nobody invited Sister to +join the party. + +The orphan looked wistfully after the wagon as Hiram drove out of +the yard. Then she turned, with trembling lip, to Mother Atterson: +“She--she's awfully pretty,” she said, “and Hiram likes her. But +she--they're all proud, and I guess they don't think much of folks like +us, after all.” + +“Shucks, Sister! we're just good as they be, every bit,” returned Mrs. +Atterson, bruskly. + +“I know; mebbe we be,” admitted Sister, slowly. “But it don't feel so.” + +And perhaps Hiram had some such thought, too, after he had driven the +girls to the big boarding school in Scoville. For they all got out +without even thanking him or bidding him good-bye--all save Lettie. + +“Really, we are a thousand times obliged to you, Hiram Strong,” she +said, in her very best manner, and offering him her hand. “As the girls +were my guests I felt I must get them home again safely--and you were +indeed a friend in need.” + +But then she spoiled it utterly, by adding: + +“Now, how much do I owe you, Hiram?” and took out her purse. “Is two +dollars enough?” This put Hiram right in his place. He saw plainly that, +friendly as the Bronsons were, they did not look upon a common farm-boy +as their equal--not in social matters, at least. + +“I could not take anything for doing a neighbor a favor, Miss Bronson,” + said Hiram, quietly. “Thank you. Good-day.” + +Hiram drove back home feeling quite as depressed as Sister, perhaps. +Finally he said to himself: + +“Well, some day I'll show 'em!” + +After that he put the matter out of his mind and refused to be troubled +by thoughts of Lettie Bronson, or her attitude toward him. + +Spring was advancing apace now. Every day saw the development of bud, +leaf and plant. Slowly the lowland was cleared and the brush and roots +were heaped in great piles, ready for the torch. + +Hiram could not depend upon this six acres as their only piece of +corn, however. There was the four-acre lot between the barnyard and the +pasture in which he proposed to plant the staple crop. + +He drew out the remainder of the coarse manure and spread it upon this +land, as far as it would go. For enriching the remainder of the corn +crop he would have to depend upon a commercial fertilizer. He drew, too, +a couple of tons of lime to be used on this corn land, and left it in +heaps to slake. + +And then, out of the clear sky of their progress, came a bolt as +unexpected as could be. They had been less than a month upon the farm. +Uncle Jeptha had not been in his grave thirty days, and Hiram was just +getting into the work of running the place, with success looming ahead. + +He had refused Mr. Bronson's offer of a position and had elected to +stick by Mrs. Atterson. He had looked forward to nothing to disturb the +contract between them until the time should be fulfilled. + +Yet one afternoon, while he was at work in the garden, Sister came out +to him all in a flurry. + +“Mis' Atterson wants you! Mis' Atterson wants you!” cried the girl. “Oh, +Hiram! something dreadful's going to happen. I know, by the way Mis' +Atterson looks. And I don' like the looks o' that man that's come to see +her.” + +Hiram unhooked the horse at the end of the row and left Sister to lead +him to the stable. He went into the house after knocking the mud off his +boots. + +There, sitting in the bright kitchen, was the sharp-featured, +snaky-looking man with whom Hiram had once talked in town. He knew his +name was Pepper, and that he did something in the real estate line, and +insurance, and the like. + +“Jest listen to what this man says, Hiram,” said Mrs. Atterson, grimly. + +“My name's Pepper,” began the man, eyeing Hiram curiously. + +“So I hear,” returned the young farmer. + +“Before old Mr. Atterson died we got to talking one day when he was in +town about his selling.” + +“Well?” returned Hiram. “You didn't say anything about that when you +offered twelve hundred for this place.” + +“Well,” said the man, stubbornly, “that was a good offer.” + +Hiram turned to Mrs. Atterson. “Do you want to sell for that price?” + +“No, I don't, Hi,” she said. + +“Then that settles it, doesn't it? Mrs. Atterson is the owner, and she +knows her own mind.” + +“I made Uncle Jeptha a better offer,” said Mr. Pepper, “and I'll make +Mrs. Atterson the same--sixteen hundred dollars. It's a run-down farm, +of course----” + +“If Mrs. Atterson doesn't want to sell,” interrupted Hiram, but here his +employer intervened. + +“There's something more, Hi,” she said, her face working “strangely. +Tell him, you Pepper!” + +“Why, the old man gave me an option on the place, and I risked a twenty +dollar bill on it. The option had--er--a year to run; dated February +tenth last; and I've decided to take the option up,” said Mr. Pepper, +his shrewd little eyes dancing in their gaze from Hiram to the old lady +and back again. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. A HEAVY CLOUD + +Now, a rattlesnake is poisonous, but he gives fair warning; a swamp +moccasin lies in wait for the unwary and strikes without sign or sound. +Into Hiram Strong's troubled mind came the thought that Mr. Pepper was +striking like his prototype of the swamps. + +A snaky sort of a man was Mr. Pepper--sly, a hand-rubber as he talked, +with a little, sickly grin playing about his thin, mean mouth. When he +opened it Hiram almost expected to see a forked tongue run out. + +At least, of one thing was the young farmer sure: Mr. Pepper was no more +to be trusted than a serpent. Therefore, he did not take a word that the +man said on trust. + +He recovered from the shock which the statement of the real estate man +had caused, and he uttered no expression of either surprise, or trouble. +Mrs. Atterson he could see was vastly disturbed by the statement; but +somebody had to keep a cool bead in this matter. + +“Let's see your option,” Hiram demanded, bruskly. + +“Why--if Mrs. Atterson wishes to see it----” + +“You show it to Hi, you Pepper-man,” snapped the old lady. “I wouldn't +do a thing without his advice.” + +“Oh, well, if you consider a boy's advice material----” + +“I know Hi's honest,” declared the old lady, tartly. “And that's what +I'm sure you ain't! Besides,” she added, sadly, “Hi's as much interested +in this thing as I be. If the farm's got to be sold, it puts Hi out of a +job.” + +“Oh, very well,” said the real estate man, and he drew a rather soiled, +folded paper from his inner pocket. + +He seemed to hesitate the fraction of a second about showing the paper. +It increased Hi's suspicion--this hesitancy. If the man had a perfectly +good option on the farm, why didn't he go about the matter boldly? + +But when he got the paper in his own hands he could see nothing wrong +with it. It seemed written in straight-forward language, the signatures +were clear enough, and as he had seen and read Uncle Jeptha's will, +he was quite sure that this was the old man's signature to the option +which, for the sum of twenty dollars in hand paid to him, he agreed to +sell his farm, situated so-and-so, for sixteen hundred dollars, cash, +same to be paid over within one year of date. + +“Of course,” said Hiram, slowly, handing back the paper--indeed, Pepper +had kept the grip of his forefinger and thumb on it all the time--“Of +course, Mrs. Atterson's lawyer must see this before she agrees to +anything.” + +“Why, Hiram! I ain't got no lawyer,” exclaimed the old lady. + +“Go to Mr. Strickland, who made Uncle Jeptha's will,” Hiram said to her. +Then he turned to Pepper: + +“What's the name of the witness to that old man's signature?” + +“Abel Pollock.” + +“Oh! Henry's father?” + +“Yes. He's got a son named Henry.” + +“And who's the Notary Public?” + +“Caleb Schell. He keeps the store just at the crossroads as you go into +town.” + +“I remember the store,” said Hiram, thoughtfully. + +“But Hiram!” cried Mrs. Atterson, “I don't want to sell the farm.” + +“We'll be sure this paper is all straight before you do sell, Mrs. +Atterson.” + +“Why, I just won't sell!” she exclaimed. “Uncle Jeptha never said +nothing in his will about giving this option. And that lawyer says that +in a couple of years the farm will be worth a good deal more than this +Pepper offers.” + +“Why, Mrs. Atterson!” exclaimed the real estate man, cheerfully, “as +property is selling in this locality now, sixteen hundred dollars is a +mighty good offer for your farm. You ask anybody. Why, Uncle Jeptha knew +it was; otherwise he wouldn't have given me the option, for he didn't +believe I'd come up with the price. He knew it was a high offer.” + +“And if it's worth so much to you, why isn't it worth more to Mrs. +Atterson to keep?” demanded Hiram, sharply. + +“Ah! that's my secret--why I want it,” said Pepper, nodding. “Leave that +to me. If I get bit by buying it, I shall have to suffer for my lack of +wisdom.” + +“You ain't bought it yet--you Pepper,” snapped Mrs. Atterson. + +“But I'm going to buy it, ma'am,” replied he, rather viciously, as he +stood up, ready to depart. “I shall expect to hear from you no later +than Monday.” + +“I won't sell it!” + +“You'll have to. If you refuse to sign I'll go to the Chancery Court. +I'll make you.” + +“Well. Mebbe you will. But I don't know. I never was made to do anything +yet. By no man named Pepper--you can take that home with you,” she flung +after him as he walked out and climbed into the buggy. + +But whereas Mrs. Atterson showed anger, Hiram went back to work in the +field with a much deeper feeling racking his mind. If the option was all +right--and of course it must be--this would settle their occupancy of +the farm. + +Of course he could not hold Mrs. Atterson to her contract. She could not +help the situation that had now arisen. + +His Spring's work had gone for nothing. Sixteen hundred dollars, even in +cash, would not be any great sum for the old lady. And she had burdened +herself with the support of Sister--and with Old Lem Camp, too! + +“Surely, I can't be a burden on her. I'll have to hustle around and find +another job. I wonder if Mr. Bronson would take me on now?” + +But he knew that the Westerner already had a man who suited him, since +Hiram had refused the chance Bronson offered. And, then, Lettie had +shown that she felt he had not appreciated their offer. Perhaps her +father felt the same way. + +Besides, Hiram had a secret wish not to put himself under obligation +to the Bronsons. This feeling may have sprung from a foolish source; +nevertheless it was strong with the young farmer. + +It looked very much to him as though this sudden turn of circumstances +was “a facer”. If Mrs. Atterson had to sell the farm he was likely to be +thrown on his own resources again. + +For his own selfish sake Hiram was worried, too. After all, he would +be unable to “make good” and to show people that he could make the old, +run-down farm pay a profit to its owner. + +But Hiram Strong couldn't believe it. + +The more he milled over the thing in his mind, the less he understood +why Uncle Jeptha, who was of acute mind right up to the hour of his +death, so all the neighbors said, should have neglected to speak about +the option he had given Pepper on the farm. + +And here they were, right in the middle of the Spring work, with crops +in the ground and--as Mrs. Atterson agreed--it would be too late to go +hunting a farm for this present season. + +But Hiram kept to work. He had Sister and Old Lem Camp out in the +garden, hand-weeding and thinning the carrots, onions, and other tender +plants. That Saturday he went through the entire garden--that part +already planted--with either the horse cultivator, or his wheel-hoe. + +In planting parsnips, carrots, and other slow-germinating seeds, he had +mixed a few radish seed in the seeding machine; these sprang up quickly +and defined the rows, so that the space between rows could be cultivated +before the other plants had scarcely broke the surface of the soil. + +Now these radish were beginning to be big enough to pull. Hiram brought +in a few bunches for their dinner on Saturday--the first fruits of the +garden. + +“Now, I dunno why it is,” said Mrs. Atterson, complacently, after +setting her teeth in the first radish and relishing its crispness, +“but this seems a whole lot better than the radishes we used to buy in +Crawberry. I 'spect what's your very own always seems better than other +folks's,” and she sighed and shook her head. + +She was thinking of the thing she had to face on Monday. Hiram hated to +see them all so downhearted. Sister's eyes were red from weeping; Old +Lem Camp sat at the table, muttering and playing with his food again +instead of eating. + +But Hiram felt as though he could not give up to the disaster that had +come to them. The thought that--in some way--Pepper was taking an unfair +advantage of Mother Atterson knocked continually at the door of his +mind. + +He went over, to himself, all that had passed in the kitchen the day +before when the real estate man had come to speak with Mrs. Atterson. +How had Pepper spoken about the option? Hadn't there been some hesitancy +in the fellow's manner--in his speech, indeed? Just what had Pepper +said? Hiram concentrated his mind upon this one thing. What had the man +said? + +“The option had--er--one year to run.” + +Those were the fellow's very words. He hesitated before he pronounced +the length of time. And he was not a man who, in speaking, had any +stammering of tongue. + +Why had he hesitated? Why should it trouble him to state the time limit +of the option? + +Was it because he was speaking a falsehood? + +The thought stung Hiram like a thorn in the flesh. He put away the tool +with which he was working, slipped on a coat, and started for Henry +Pollock's house, which lay not more than half a mile from the Atterson +farm, across the fields. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. THE REASON WHY + +HIRAM found Abel Pollock mending harness in the shed. Hiram opened his +business bluntly, and told the farmer what was up. Mr. Pollock scratched +his head, listened attentively, and then sat down to digest the news. + +“You gotter move--jest when you've got rightly settled on that place?” + he demanded. “Well, that's 'tarnal bad! And from what Henry tells me, +you're a young feller with idees, too.” + +“I don't care so much for myself,” Hiram hastened to say. “It's Mrs. +Atterson I'm thinking about. And she had just made up her mind that she +was anchored for the rest of her life. Besides, I don't think it is a +wise thing to sell the property at that price.” + +“No. I wouldn't sell if I was her, for no sixteen hundred dollars.” + +“But she's got to, you see, Mr. Pollock. Pepper has the option signed by +her Uncle Jeptha----” + +“Jeptha Atterson was no fool,” interrupted Pollock. “I can't understand +his giving an option on the farm, with all this talk of the railroad +crossing the river.” + +“But, Mr. Pollock!” exclaimed Hiram, eagerly, “you must know all about +this option. You signed as a witness to Uncle Jeptha's signature.” + +“No! you don't mean that?” exclaimed the farmer. “My name to it, too?” + +“Yes. And it was signed before Caleb Schell the notary public.” + +“So it was--so it was, boy!” declared the other, suddenly smiting his +knee. “I remember I witnessed Uncle Jeptha's signature once. But that +was way back there in the winter--before he was took sick.” + +“Yes, sir?” said Hiram, eagerly. + +“That was an option on the old farm. So it was. But goodness me, boy, +Pepper must have got him to renew it, or something. That option wouldn't +have run till now.” + +Hiram told him the date the paper was executed. + +“That's right, by Jo! It was in February.” + +“And it was for a year?” + +Mr. Pollock stared at him in silence, evidently thinking deeply. + +“If you remember all about it, then,” Hiram continued, “it's hardly +worth while going to Mr. Schell, I suppose.” + +“I remember, all right,” said Pollock, slowly. “It was all done right +there in Cale Schell's store. It was one rainy afternoon. There was +several of us sitting around Cale's stove. Pepper was one of us. In +comes Uncle Jeptha. Pepper got after him right away, but sort of on the +quiet, to one side. + +“I heard 'em. Pepper had made him an offer for the farm that was 'way +down low, and the old man laughed at him. + +“We hadn't none of us heard then the talk that came later about the +railroad. But Pepper has a brother-in-law who's in the office of the +company, and he thinks he gits inside information. + +“So, for some reason, he thought the railroad was going to touch +Uncle Jeptha's farm. O' course, it ain't. It's goin' over the river by +Ayertown. + +“I don't see what Pepper wants to take up the option for, anyway. Unless +he sees that you're likely to make suthin' out o' the old place, and +mebbe he's got a city feller on the string, to buy it.” + +“It doesn't matter what his reason is. Mrs. Atterson doesn't want to +sell, and if that option is all right, she must,” said Hiram. “And you +are sure Uncle Jeptha gave it for twelve months?” + +“Twelve months?” ejaculated Pollock, suddenly. “Why--no--that don't seem +right,” stammered the farmer, scratching his head. + +“But that's the way the option reads.” + +“Well--mebbe. I didn't just read it myself--no, sir. They jest says to +me: + +“'Come here, Pollock, and witness these signatures' So, I done +it--that's all. But I see Cale put on his specs and read the durn thing +through before he stamped it. Yes, sir. Cale's the carefulest notary +public we ever had around here. + +“Say!” said Mr. Pollock. “You go to Cale and ask him. It don't seem to +me the old man give Pepper so long a time.” + +“For how long was the option to run, then?” queried Hiram, excitedly. + + + +“Wal, I wouldn't wanter say. I don't wanter git inter trouble with no +neighbor. If Cale says a year is all right, then I'll say so, too. I +wouldn't jest trust my memory.” + +“But there is some doubt in your mind, Mr. Pollock?” + +“There is. A good deal of doubt,” the farmer assured him. “But you ask +Cale.” + +This was all that Hiram could get out of the elder Pollock. It was not +very comforting. The young farmer was of two minds whether he should see +Caleb Schell, or not. + +But when he got back to the house for supper, and saw the doleful faces +of the three waiting there, he couldn't stand inaction. + +“If you don't mind, I want to go to town tonight, Mrs. Atterson,” he +told the old lady. + +“All right, Hiram. I expect you've got to look out for yourself, boy. +If you can get another job, you take it. It's a 'tarnal shame you didn't +take up with that Bronson's offer when he come here after you.” + +“You needn't feel so,” said Hiram. “You're no more at fault than I am. +This thing just happened--nobody could foretell it. And I'm just as +sorry as I can be for you, Mother Atterson.” + +The old woman wiped her eyes. + +“Well, Hi, there's other things in this world to worry over besides +gravy, I find,” she said. “Some folks is born for trouble, and mebbe +we're some of that kind.” + +It was not exactly Mr. Pollock's doubts that sent Hiram Strong down +to the crossroads store that evening. For the farmer had seemed so +uncertain that the boy couldn't trust to his memory at all. + +No. It was Hiram's remembrance of Pepper's stammering when he spoke +about the option. He hesitated to pronounce the length of time the +option had been drawn for. Was it because he knew there was some trick +about the time-limit? + +Had the real estate man fooled old Uncle Jeptha in the beginning? The +dead man had been very shrewd and careful. Everybody said so. + +He was conscious and of acute mind right up to his death. If there was +an option on the farm be surely would have said something about it to +Mr. Strickland, or to some of the neighbors. + +It looked to Hiram as though the old farmer must have believed that the +option had expired before the day of his death. + +Had Pepper only got the old man's promise for a shorter length of time, +but substituted the paper reading “one year” when it was signed? Was +that the mystery? + +However, Hiram could not see how that would help Mrs. Atterson, for even +testimony of witnesses who heard the discussion between the dead man and +the real estate agent, could not controvert a written instrument. The +young fellow knew that. + +He harnessed the old horse to the light wagon and drove to the +crossroads store kept by Caleb Schell. Many of the country people liked +to trade with this man because his store was a social gathering-place. + +Around a hot stove in the winter, and a cold stove at this time of year, +the men gathered to discuss the state of the country, local politics, +their neighbors' business, and any other topic which was suggested to +their more or less idle minds. + +On the outskirts of the group of older loafers, the growing crop of men +who would later take their places in the soap-box forum lingered; while +sky-larking about the verge of the crowd were smaller boys who were +learning no good, to say the least, in attaching themselves to the older +members of the company. + +There will always be certain men in every community who take delight in +poisoning the minds of the younger generation. We muzzle dogs, or shoot +them when they go mad. The foul-mouthed man is far more vicious than the +dog, and should be impounded. + +Hiram hitched his horse to the rack before the store and entered the +crowded place. The fumes of tobacco smoke, vinegar, cheese, and various +other commodities gave a distinctive flavor to Caleb Schell's store--and +not a pleasant one, to Hiram's mind. + +Ordinarily he would have made any purchases he had to make, and gone out +at once. But Schell was busy with several customers at the counter and +he was forced to wait a chance to speak with the old man. + +One of the first persons Hiram saw in the store was young Pete +Dickerson, hanging about the edge of the crowd. Pete scowled at him and +moved away. One of the men holding down a cracker-keg sighted Hiram and +hailed him in a jovial tone: + +“Hi, there, Mr. Strong! What's this we been hearin' about you? They +say you had a run-in with Sam Dickerson. We been tryin' to git the +pertic'lars out o' Pete, here, but he don't seem ter wanter talk about +it,” and the man guffawed heartily. + +“Hear ye made Sam give back the tools he borrowed of the old man?” said +another man, whom Hiram knew to be Mrs. Larriper's son-in-law. + +“You are probably misinformed,” said Hiram, quietly. “I know no reason +why Mr. Dickerson and I should have trouble--unless other neighbors make +trouble for us.” + +“Right, boy--right!” called Cale Schell, from behind the counter, where +he could hear and comment upon all that went on in the middle of the +room, despite the attention he had to give to his customers. + +“Well, if you can git along with Sam and Pete, you'll do well,” laughed +another of the group. + +The Dickersons seemed to be in disfavor in the community, and nobody +cared whether Pete repeated what was said to his father, or not. + +“I was told,” pursued the first speaker, screwing up one eye and +grinning at Hiram, “that you broke Sam's gun over his head and chased +Pete a mile. That right, son?” + +“You will get no information from me,” returned Hiram, tartly. + +“Why, Pete ought to be big enough to lick you alone, Strong,” continued +the tantalizer. “Hey, Pete! Don't sneak out. Come and tell us why you +didn't give this chap the lickin' you said you was going to?” + +Pete only glared at him and slunk out of the store. Hiram turned his +back on the whole crowd and waited at the end of the counter for Mr. +Schell. The storekeeper was a tall, portly man, with a gray mustache and +side-whiskers, and a high bald forehead. + +“What can I do for you, Mr. Strong?” he asked, finally having got rid of +the customers who preceded Hiram. + +Hiram, in a low voice, explained his mission. Schell nodded his head at +once. + +“Oh, yes,” he said; “I remember about the option. I had forgotten it, +for a fact; but Pepper was in here yesterday talking about it. He had +been to your house.” + +“Then, sir, to the best of your remembrance, the option is all right?” + +“Oh, certainly! Pollock witnessed it, and I put my seal on it. Yes, sir; +Pepper can make the old lady sell. It's too bad, if she wants to remain +there; but the price he is to pay isn't so bad----” + +“You have no reason to doubt the validity of the option?” cried Hiram, +in desperation. + +“Assuredly not.” + +“Then why didn't Uncle Jeptha speak of it to somebody before he died, if +the option had not run out at that time?” + +“Humph!” + +“You grant the old man was of sound mind?” + +“Sound as a pine knot,” agreed the storekeeper, still reflective. + +“Then how is it he did not speak to his lawyer about the option when he +saw Mr. Strickland within an hour of his death?” + +“That does seem peculiar,” admitted the storekeeper, slowly. + +“And Mr. Pollock says he thinks there is something wrong about the +option,” went on Hiram, eagerly. + +“Oh, Pollock! Pah!” returned Schell. “I don't suppose he even read it.” + +“But you did?” + +“Assuredly. I always read every paper. If they don't want me to know +what the agreement is, they can take it to some other Notary,” declared +the storekeeper with a jolly laugh. + +“And you are sure that the option was to run a year?” + +“Of course the option's all right--Hold on! A year, did you say? +Why--seems to me--let's look this thing up,” concluded Caleb Schell, +suddenly. + +He dived into his little office and produced a ledger from the safe. +This he slapped down on the counter between them. + +“I'm a careful man, I am,” he told Hiram. “And I flatter myself I've got +a good memory, too. Pepper was in here yesterday sputtering about the +option and I remember now that he spoke of its running a year. + +“But it seems to me,” said Schell, pawing over the leaves of his ledger, +“that the talk between him and old Uncle Jeptha was for a short time. +The old man was mighty cautious--mighty cautious.” + +“That's what Mr. Pollock says,” cried Hiram, eagerly. + +“But you've seen the option? + +“Yes.” + +“And it reads a year? + +“Oh, yes.” + +“Then how you going to get around that?” demanded Schell, with +conviction. + +“But perhaps Uncle Jeptha signed the option thinking it was for a +shorter time.” + +“That wouldn't help you none. The paper was signed. And why should +Pepper have buncoed him--at that time?” + +“Why should he be so eager to get the farm now?” asked Hiram. + +“Well, I'll tell you. It ain't out yet. But two or three days ago the +railroad board abandoned the route through Ayertown and it is agreed +that the new bridge will be built along there by your farm somewhere. + +“The river is as narrow there as it is anywhere for miles up and down, +and they will stretch a bridge from the high bank on your side, across +the meadows, to the high bank on the other side. It will cut out grades, +you see. That's what has started Pepper up to grab off the farm while +the option is valid.” + +“But, Mr. Schell, is the option valid?” cried Hiram, anxiously. + +“I don't see how you're going to get around it. Ah! here's the place. +When I have sealed a paper I make a note of it--what the matter was +about and who the contracting parties were. I've done that for years. +Let--me--see.” + +He adjusted his spectacles. He squinted at the page, covered closely +with writing. Hiram saw him whispering the words he read to himself. +Suddenly the blood flooded into the old man's face, and he looked up +with a start at his interrogator. + +“Do you mean to say that option's for a year? he demanded. + +“That is the way it reads--now,” whispered Hiram, watching him closely. + +The old man turned the book around slowly on the counter. His stubbed +finger pointed to the two or three scrawled lines written in a certain +place. + +Hiram read them slowly, with beating heart. + + + +CHAPTER XX. AN ENEMY IN THE DARK + +The whispered conference between Hiram Strong and the storekeeper could +not be heard by the curious crowd around the cold stove; nor did it last +for long. + +Caleb Schell finally closed his ledger and put it away. Hiram shook +hands with him and walked out. + +On the platform outside, which was illuminated by a single smoky +lantern, a group of small boys were giggling, and they watched Hiram +unhitch the old horse and climb into the spring wagon with so much +hilarity that the young farmer expected some trick. + +The horse started off all right, he missed nothing from the wagon, and +so he supposed that he was mistaken. The boys had merely been laughing +at him because he was a stranger. + +But as Hiram got some few yards from the hitching rack, the seat was +suddenly pulled from under him, and he was left sprawling on his back in +the bottom of the wagon. + +A yell of derision from the crowd outside the store assured him that +this was the cause of the boys' hilarity. Luckily his old horse was of +quiet disposition, and he stopped dead in his tracks when the seat flew +out of the back of the wagon. + +A joke is a joke. No use in showing wrath over this foolish amusement of +the crossroads boys. But Hiram got a little the best of them, after all. + +The youngsters had scattered when the “accident” occurred. Hiram, +getting out to pick up the seat, found the end of a strong hemp line +fastened to it. The other end was tied to the hitching rack in front of +the store. + +Instead of casting off the line from the seat, Hiram walked back to the +store and cast that end off. + +“At any rate, I'm in a good coil of hemp rope,” he said to one of the +men who had come out to see the fun. “The fellow who owns it can come +and prove property; but I shall ask a few questions of him.” + +There was no more laughter. The young farmer walked back to his wagon, +set up the seat again, and drove on. + +The roadway was dark, but having been used all his life to country +roads at night, Hiram had no difficulty in seeing the path before him. +Besides, the old horse knew his way home. + +He drove on some eighth of a mile. Suddenly he felt that the wagon +was not running true. One of the wheels was yawing. He drew in the old +horse; but he was not quick enough. + +The nigh forward wheel rolled off the end of the axle, and down came the +wagon with a crash! + +Hiram was thrown forward and came sprawling--on hands and knees--upon +the ground, while the wheel rolled into the ditch. He was little hurt, +although the accident might have been serious. + +And in truth, he knew it to be no accident. A burr does not easily work +off the end of an axle. He had greased the old wagon just before he +started for the store, and he knew he had replaced each nut carefully. + +This was a deliberately malicious trick--no boy's joke like the tying of +the rope to his wagon seat. And the axle was broken. Although he had +no lantern he could see that the wagon could not be used again without +being repaired. + +“Who did it?” was Hiram's unspoken question, as he slowly unharnessed +the old horse, and then dragged the broken wagon entirely out of the +road so that it would not be an obstruction for other vehicles. + +His mind set instantly upon Pete Dickerson. He had not seen the boy +when he came out of the crossroads store. If the fellow had removed this +burr, he had done it without anybody seeing him, and had then run home. + +The young farmer, much disturbed over this incident, mounted the back +of the old horse, and paced home. He only told Mrs. Atterson that he had +met with an accident and that the light wagon would have to be repaired +before it could be used again. + +That necessitated their going to town on Monday in the heavy wagon. And +Hiram dragged the spring wagon to the blacksmith shop for repairs, on +the way. + +But before that, the enemy in the dark had struck again. When Hiram +went to the barnyard to water the stock, Sunday morning, he found that +somebody had been bothering the pump. + +The bucket, or pump-valve, was gone. He had to take it apart, cut a new +valve out of sole leather, and put the pump together again. + +“We'll have to get a cross dog, if we remain here,” he told Mrs. +Atterson. “There is somebody in the neighborhood who means us harm.” + +“Them Dickersons!” exclaimed Mrs. Atterson. + +“Perhaps. That Pete, maybe. If I once caught him up to his tricks I'd +make him sorry enough.” + +“Tell the constable, Hi,” cried Sister, angrily. + +“That would make trouble for his folks. Maybe they don't know just how +mean Pete is. A good thrashing--and the threat of another every time he +did anything mean--would do him lots more good.” + +This wasn't nice Sunday work, but it was too far to carry water from the +house to the horse trough, so Hiram had to repair the pump. + +On Monday morning he routed out Sister and Mr. Camp at daybreak. He had +been up and out for an hour himself, and on a bench under the shed he +had heaped two or three bushels of radishes which he had pulled and +washed, ready for bunching. + +He showed his helpers how the pretty scarlet balls were to be bunched, +and found that Sister took hold of the work with nimble fingers, while +Mr. Camp did very well at the unaccustomed task. + +“I don't know, Hi,” said Mrs. Atterson, despondently, “that it's worth +while your trying to sell any of the truck, if we're going to leave here +so soon.” + +“We haven't left yet,” he returned, trying to speak cheerfully. “And you +might as well get every penny back that you can. Perhaps an arrangement +can be made whereby we can stay and harvest the garden crop, at any +rate.” + +“You can make up your mind that that Pepper man won't give us any +leeway; he isn't that kind,” declared Mother Atterson, with conviction. + +Hiram made a quick sale of the radishes at several of the stores, where +he got eighteen cents a dozen bunches; but some he sold at the big +boarding-school--St. Beris--at a retail price. + +“You can bring any other fresh vegetables you may have from time +to time,” the housekeeper told him. “Nobody ever raised any early +vegetables about Scoville before. They are very welcome.” + +“Once we get a-going,” said Hiram to Mrs. Atterson, “you or Sister can +drive in with the spring wagon and dispose of the surplus vegetables. +And you might get a small canning outfit--they come as cheap as fifteen +dollars--and put up tomatoes, corn, peas, beans, and other things. Good +canned stuff always sells well.” + +“Good Land o' Goshen, Hiram!” exclaimed the old lady, in desperation. +“You talk jest as though we were going to stay on the farm.” + +“Well, let's go and see Mr. Strickland,” replied the young farmer, and +they set out for the lawyer's office. + +Mrs. Atterson sat in the ante-room while Hiram asked to speak with the +old lawyer in private for a minute. The conference was not for long, and +when Hiram came back to his employer he said: + +“Mr. Strickland has sent his junior clerk out for Pepper. He thinks we'd +better talk the matter over quietly. And he wants to see the option, +too.” + +“Oh, Hiram! There ain't no hope, is there?” groaned the old lady. + +“Well, I tell you what!” exclaimed the young fellow, “we won't give in +to him until we have to. Of course, if you refuse to sign a deed he +can go to chancery and in the end you will have to pay the costs of the +action. + +“But perhaps, even at that, it might be well to hold him off until you +have got the present crop out of the ground.” + +“Oh, I won't go to law,” said Mrs. Atterson, decidedly. “No good ever +come of that.” + +After a time Mr. Strickland invited them both into his private office. +The attorney spoke quietly of other matters while they waited for +Pepper. + +But the real estate man did not appear. By and by Mr. Strickland's clerk +came back with the report that Pepper had been called away suddenly on +important business. + +“They tell me he went Saturday,” said the clerk. “He may not be back +for a week. But he said he was going to buy the Atterson place when he +returned--he's told several people around town so.” + +“Ah!” said Mr. Strickland, slowly. “Then he has left that threat +hanging, like the Sword of Damocles--over Mrs. Atterson's head?” + +“I don't know nothin' about that sword, Mr. Strickland, nor no +other sword, 'cept a rusty one that my father carried when he was a +hoss-sodger in the Rebellion,” declared Mother Atterson, nervously. “But +if that Pepper man's got one belonging to Mr. Damocles, I shouldn't be +at all surprised. That Pepper looked to me like a man that would take +anything he could lay his hands on--if he warn't watched!” + +“Which is a true and just interpretation of Pepper's character, I +believe,” observed the lawyer, smiling. + +“And we've got to give up the farm at his say-so--at any time?” demanded +the old lady. + +“If his option is good,” said Mr. Strickland. “But I want to see the +paper--and I can assure you, Mrs. Atterson, that I shall subject it to +the closest possible scrutiny. + +“There is a possibility that Pepper's option may be questioned before +the courts. Do not build too many hopes on this,” he added, quickly, +seeing the old lady's face light up. + +“You have a very good champion in this young man,” and the lawyer nodded +at Hiram. + +“He suspected all was not right with the option and he has dug up the +fact that the witness to your uncle's signature, and the man before whom +the paper was attested, both believed the option was for a short time. + +“Caleb Schell's book shows that it was for thirty days. Uncle Jeptha +undoubtedly thought it was for that length of time and therefore the +option expired several days before he died. + +“Mr. Pepper may have fallen under temptation. He considered heretofore, +like everybody else, that the railroad would pass us by in this section. +Pepper gambled twenty dollars on its coming along the boundary of the +Atterson farm--between you and Darrell's tract--and thought he had lost. + +“Then suddenly the railroad board turned square around and voted for the +condemnation of the original route. Pepper remembered the option he had +risked twenty dollars on. If it was originally for thirty days, it was +void, of course; but Uncle Jeptha is dead, and he hopes perhaps, that +nobody else will dispute the validity of it.” + +“It's a forgery, then?” cried Mrs. Atterson. + +“It may be a forgery. We do not know,” said the lawyer, hastily. “At any +rate, he has the paper, and he is a shrewd rascal.” + +Mrs. Atterson's face was a study. + +“Do you mean to tell me we have got to lose the farm?” she demanded. + +“My dear lady, that I cannot tell you. I must see this option. We must +put it to the test----” + +“But Schell and Pollock will testify that the option was for thirty +days,” cried Hiram. + +“Perhaps. To the best of their remembrance and belief, it was for +thirty days. A shrewd lawyer, however--and Pepper would employ a shrewd +one--would turn their evidence inside out. + +“No evidence--in theory, at least--can controvert a written instrument, +signed, sealed, and delivered. Even Cale Schell's memoranda book cannot +be taken as evidence, save in a contributory way. It is not direct. It +is the carelessly scribbled record, in pencil, of a busy man. + +“No. If Pepper puts forward the option we have got to see if that +option has been tampered with--the paper itself, I mean. If the fellow +substituted a different instrument, at the time of signing, from the one +Uncle Jeptha thought he signed, you have no case--I tell you frankly, my +dear lady.” + +“Then, it ain't no use. We got to lose the place, Hiram,” said Mrs. +Atterson, when they left the lawyer's office. + +“I wouldn't lose heart. If Pepper is scared, he may not trouble you +again.” + +“It's got ten months more to run,” said she. “He can keep us guessin' all +that time.” + +“That is so,” agreed Hiram, nodding thoughtfully. “But, of course, as +Mr. Strickland says, by raising a doubt as to the validity of the option +we can hold him off for a while--maybe until we have made this year's +crop.” + +“It's goin' to make me lay awake o' nights,” sighed the old lady. “And +I thought I'd got through with that when I stopped worryin' about the +gravy.” + +“Well, we won't talk about next year,” agreed Hiram. “I'll do the best I +can for you through this season, if Pepper will let us alone. We've got +the bottom land practically cleared; we might as well plough it and put +in the corn there. If we make a crop you'll get all your money back and +more. Mr. Strickland told me privately that the option, unless it read +that way, would not cover the crops in the ground. And I read the option +carefully. Crops were not mentioned.” + +So it was decided to go ahead with the work as already planned; +but neither the young farmer, nor his employer, could look forward +cheerfully to the future. + +The uncertainty of what Pepper would eventually do was bound to be in +their thought, day and night. + + + +CHAPTER XXI. THE WELCOME TEMPEST + +To some youths this matter of the option would have been such a clog +that they would have lost interest and slighted the work. But not so +with Hiram Strong. + +He counted this day a lost one, however; he hated to leave the farm for +a minute when there was so much to do. + +But the next morning he got the plow into the four-acre corn lot; and +he did nothing but the chores that week until the ground was entirely +plowed. Then Henry Pollock came over and gave him another day's work and +they finished grubbing the lowland. + +The rubbish was piled in great heaps down there, ready for burning. As +long as the rain held off, Hiram did not put fire to the bush-heaps. + +But early in the following week the clouds began to gather in a quarter +for rain, and late in the afternoon, when the air was still, he took a +can of coal oil, and with Sister and Mr. Camp, and even Mrs. Atterson, +at his heels, went down to the riverside to burn the brush heaps. + +“There's not much danger of the fire spreading to the woods; but if it +should,” Hiram said, warningly, “it might, at this time of year, do your +timber a couple of hundred dollars' worth of damage.” + +“Goodness me!” exclaimed Mother Atterson. “It does seem ridiculous to +hear you talk that a-way. I never owned nothin' but a little bit of +furniture before, and I expected the boarders to tear that all to +pieces. I'm beginning to feel all puffed up and wealthy.” + +Hiram cut them all green pineboughs for beaters, and then set the fires, +one after another. There were more than twenty of the great piles and +soon the river bottom, from bend to bend, was filled with rolling clouds +of smoke. As the dusk dropped, the yellow glare of the fire illuminated +the scene. + +Sister clapped her hands and cried: + +“Ain't this bully? It beats the Fourth of July celebration in Crawberry. +Oh, I'd rather be on the farm than go to heaven!” + +They had brought their supper with them, and leaving the others to watch +the fires, and see that the grass did not tempt the flames to the edge +of the wood, Hiram cast bait into the river and, in an hour, drew out +enough mullet and “bull-heads” to satisfy them all, when they were +broiled over the hot coals of the first bonfire to be lighted. + +They ate with much enjoyment. Between nine and ten o'clock the fires had +all burned down to coals. + +A circle of burned-over grass and rubbish surrounded each fire. There +seemed no possibility that the flames could spread to the mat of dry +leaves on the side hill. + +So they went home, a lantern guiding their feet over the rough path +through the timber, stopping at the spring for a long, thirst-quenching +draught. + +The sky was as black as ink. Now and again a faint flash in the westward +proclaimed a tempest in that direction. But not a breath of wind was +stirring, and the rain might not reach this section. + +A dull red glow was reflected on the clouds over the river-bottom. When +Hiram looked from his window, just as he was ready for bed, that glow +seemed to have increased. + +“Strange,” he muttered. “It can't be that those fires have spread. There +was no chance for them to spread. I--don't--understand it!” + +He sat at the window and stared out through the darkness. There was +little wind as yet; it was a fact, however, that the firelight flickered +on the low-hung clouds with increasing radiance. + +“Am I mad?” demanded the young farmer, suddenly leaping up and drawing +on his garments again. “That fire is spreading.” + +He dressed fully, and ran softly down the stairs and left the house. +When he came out in the clear the glow had not receded. There was a fire +down the hillside, and it seemed increasing every moment. + +He remembered the enemy in the dark, and without stopping to rouse the +household, ran on toward the woods, his heart beating heavily in his +bosom. + +Slipping, falling at times, panting heavily because of the rough ground, +Hiram came at last through the more open timber to the brink of that +steep descent, at the bottom of which lay the smoky river-bottom. + +And indeed, the whole of the lowland seemed filled with stifling clouds +of smoke. Yet, from a dozen places along the foot of the hill, yellow +flames were starting up, kindling higher, and devouring as fast as might +be the leaves and tinder left from the wrack of winter. + +The nearest bonfire had been a hundred yards from the foot of this hill. +His care, Hiram knew, had left no chance of the dull coals in any of the +twenty heaps spreading to the verge of the grove. + +Man's hand had done this. An enemy, waiting and watching until they had +left the field, had stolen down, gathered burning brands, and spread +them along the bottom of the hill, where the increasing wind might +scatter the fire until the whole grove was in a blaze. + +Not only was Mrs. Atterson's timber in danger, but Darrell's tract +and that lying beyond would be overwhelmed by the flames if they were +allowed to spread. + +On the other side, Dickerson had cut his timber a year or two before, +clear to the river. The fire would not burn far over his line. Whoever +had done this dastardly act, Dickerson's property would not be damaged. + +But Hiram lent no time to trouble. His work was cut out for him right +here and now--and well he knew it! + +He had brought the small axe with him, having caught it up from the +doorstep. Now he used it to cut a green bough, and then ran with the +latter down the hill and set upon the fire-line like a madman. + +The smoke, spread here and there by puffs of rising wind, half choked +him. It stung his eyes until they distilled water enough to blind him. +He thrashed and fought in the fumes and the murk of it, stumbling and +slipping, one moment half-knee deep in quick-springing flames, the next +almost overpowered by the smudge that rose from the beaten mat of leaves +and rubbish. + +It was a lone fight. He had to do it all. There had been no time to +rouse either the neighbors, or the rest of the family. + +If he did not overcome these flames--and well he knew it--Mother +Atterson would arise in the morning to see all her goodly timber +scorched, perhaps ruined! + +“I must beat it out--beat it out!” thought Hiram, and the repetition +of the words thrummed an accompaniment upon the drums of his ears as he +thrashed away with a madman's strength. + +For no sane person would have tackled such a hopeless task. Before +him the flames suddenly leaped six feet or more into the air. They +overtopped him as they writhed through a clump of green-briars. The wind +puffed the flame toward him, and his face was scorched by the heat. + +He lost his eyebrows completely, and the hair was crisped along the +front brim of his hat. + +Then with a laughing crackle, as though scorning his weakness, the +flames ran up a climbing vine and the next moment wrapped a tall pine in +lurid yellow. + +This pine, like a huge torch, began to give off a thick, black smoke. +Would some wakeful neighboring farmer, seeing it, know the danger that +menaced and come to Hiram's help? + +For yards he had beaten flat the flames and stamped out every spark. +Behind him was naught but rolling smoke. It was dark there. No flames +were eating up the slope. + +But toward Darrell's tract the fire seemed on the increase. He could not +catch up with it. And this solitary, sentinel pine, ablaze now in all +its head, threatened to fling sparks for a hundred yards. + +If the wind continued to rise, the forest was doomed! + +His green branch had burned to a crisp. He had lost his axe in the +darkness and the smoke, and now he tore another bough, by main strength, +from its parent stem. + +Hiram Strong worked as though inspired; but to no purpose in the end. +For the flames increased. Puff after puff of wind drove the fire on, +scattering brands from the blazing pine; and now another, and another, +tree caught. The glare of the conflagration increased. + +He flung down the useless bough. Fire was all about him. He had to leap +suddenly to one side to escape a burst of flame that had caught in a +jungle of green-briars. + +Then, of a sudden, a crash of thunder rolled and reverberated through +the glen. Lightning for an instant lit up the meadows and the river. +The glare of it almost blinded the young farmer and, out of the line of +fire, he sank to the earth and covered his eyes, seared by the sudden, +compelling light. + +Again and again the thunder rolled, following the javelins of lightning +that seemed to dart from the clouds to the earth. The tempest, so long +muttering in the West, had come upon him unexpectedly, for he had given +all his attention to the spreading fire. + +And now came the rain--no refreshing, sweet, saturating shower; but a +thunderous, blinding fall of water that first set the burning woods to +steaming and then drowned out every spark of fire on upland as well as +lowland. + +It was a cloudburst--a downpour such as Hiram had seldom experienced +before. Exhausted, he lay on the bank and let the pelting rain soak him +to the skin. + +He did not care. Half drowned by the beating rain, he only crowed his +delight at the downpour. Every spark of fire was flooded out. The danger +was past. + +He finally arose, and staggered through the downpour to the house, only +happy that--by a merciful interposition of Providence--the peril had +been overcome. + +He tore off his clothing on the stoop, there in the pitch darkness, and +crept up to his bedroom where he rubbed himself down with a crash-towel, +and finally tumbled into bed and slept like a log till broad daylight. + + + +CHAPTER XXII. FIRST FRUITS + +For the first time since they had come to the farm, Hiram was the +last to get up in the house. And when he came down to breakfast, +still trembling from the exertion of the previous night, Mrs. Atterson +screamed at the sight of him. + +“For the good Land o' Goshen!” she cried. “You look like a singed +chicken, Hiram Strong! Whatever have you been doing to yourself?” + +He told them of the fight he had had while they slept. But he could talk +about it jokingly now, although Sister was inclined to snivel a little +over his danger. + +“That Dickerson boy ought to be lashed--Nine and thirty lashes--none too +much--This sausage is good--humph!--and pancakes--fit for the gods--But +he'll come back--do more damage--the butter, yes I I want butter--and +syrup, though two spreads is reckless extravagance--Eh? eh? can't prove +anything against that Dickerson lout?-well, mebbe not.” + +So Old Lem Camp commented upon the affair. But Hiram could not prove +that the neighbor's boy had done any of these things which pointed to a +malicious enemy. + +The young farmer began to wonder if he could not lay a trap, and so +bring about his undoing. + +As soon as the ground was in fit condition again (for the nights rain +had been heavy) Hiram scattered the lime he had planned to use upon +the four acres of land plowed for corn, and dragged it in with a +spike-toothed harrow. + +Working as he was with one horse alone, this took considerable time, +and when this corn land was ready, it was time for him to go through the +garden piece again with the horse cultivator. + +Sister and Lem Camp, both, had learned to use the man-weight wheel-hoe, +and the fine stuff was thinned and the weeds well cut out. From time +to time the young farmer had planted peas--both the dwarf and taller +varieties--and now he risked putting in some early beans--“snap” and +bush limas--and his first planting of sweet corn. + +Of the latter he put in four rows across the garden, each, of sixty-five +day, seventy-five day, and ninety day sugar corn--all of well-known +kinds. He planned later to put in, every fortnight, four rows of a +mid-length season corn, so as to have green corn for sale, and for the +house, up to frost. + +The potatoes were growing finely and he hilled them up for the first +time. He marked his four-acre lot for field corn--cross-checking it +three-feet, ten inches apart. This made twenty-seven hundred and fifty +hills to the acre, and with the hand-planter--an ingenious but cheap +machine--he dropped two and three kernels to the hill. + +This upland, save where he had spread coarse stable manure, was +not rich. Upon each corn-hill he had Sister throw half a handful of +fertilizer. She followed him as he used the planter, and they planted +and fertilized the entire four acres in less than two days. + +The lime he had put into the land would release such fertility as +remained dormant there; but Hiram did not expect a big crop of corn on +that piece. If he made two good ears to the hill he would be satisfied. + +He had knocked together a rough cold-frame, on the sunny side of the +woodshed, to fit some old sash he had found in the barn. Into the rich +earth sifted to make the bed in this frame, he transplanted tomato, +egg-plant, pepper and other plants of a delicate nature. Early cabbage +and cauliflower had already gone into the garden plot, and in the midst +of an early and saturating rain, all day long, he had transplanted +table-beets into the rows he had marked out for them. + +This variety of vegetables were now all growing finely. He sold nearly +six dollars' worth of radishes in town, and these radishes he showed +Mrs. Atterson were really “clear profit.” They had all been pulled from +the rows of carrots and other small seeds. + +There were several heavy rains after the tempest which had been so +Providential; the ground was well saturated, and the river had risen +until it roared between its banks in a voice that could be heard, on a +still day, at the house. + +The rains started the vegetation growing by leaps and bounds; weeds +always increase faster than any other growing thing. + +There was plenty for Hiram to do in the garden, and he kept Sister and +Old Lem Camp busy, too. They were at it from the first faint streak of +light in the morning until dark. + +But they were well--and happy. Mother Atterson, her heart troubled by +thought of “that Pepper-man,” could not always repress her smiles. If +the danger of losing the farm were past, she would have had nothing in +the world to trouble her. + +The hundred eggs she had purchased for five dollars had proven more than +sixty per cent fertile. Some advice that Hiram had given her enabled +Mrs. Atterson to handle the chickens so that the loss from disease was +very small. + +He knocked together for her a couple of pens, eight feet square, which +could be moved about on the grass every day. In these pens the seventy, +or more, chicks thrived immensely. And Sister was devoted to them. + +Meanwhile the old white-faced cow, that had been a terror to Mother +Atterson at the start, had found her calf, and it was a heifer. + +“Take my advice and raise it,” said Hiram. “She is a scrub, but she is a +pretty good scrub. You'll see that she will give a good measure of milk. +And what this farm needs is cattle. + +“If you could make stable manure enough to cover the cleared acres a +foot deep, you could raise almost any crop you might name--and +make money by it. The land is impoverished by the use of commercial +fertilizers, unbalanced by humus.” + +“Well, I guess You know, Hiram,” admitted Mrs. Atterson. “And that +calf certainly is a pretty creeter. It would be too bad to turn it into +veal.” + +Hiram did not intend to raise the calf expensively, however. He took it +away from its mother right at the start, and in two weeks it was eating +grass, and guzzling skimmed milk and calf-meal, while the old cow was +beginning to show her employer her value. + +Mrs. Atterson bought a small churn and quickly learned that “slight” at +butter-making which is absolutely essential if one would succeed in the +dairy business. + +The cow turned out to pasture early in May, too; so her keep was not +so heavy a burden. She lowed some after the calf; but the latter was +growing finely under Hiram's care, and Mrs. Atterson had at least two +pounds of butter for sale each week, and the housekeeper at the St. +Beris school paid her thirty-five cents a pound for it. + +Hiram gradually picked up a retail route in the town, which customers +paid more for the surplus vegetables--and butter--than could be obtained +at the stores. He had taught Sister how to drive, and sometimes even +Mrs. Atterson went in with the vegetables. + +This relieved the young farmer and allowed him to work in the fields. +And during these warm, growing May days, he found plenty to do. Just as +the field corn pushed through the ground he went into the lot with his +14-tooth harrow and broke up the crust and so killed the ever-springing +weeds. + +With the spikes on the harrow “set back,” no corn-plants were dragged +out of the ground. This first harrowing, too, mixed the fertilizer with +the soil, and gave the corn the start it so sadly needed. + +Busy as bees, the four transplanted people at the Atterson farmhouse +accomplished a great deal during these first weeks of the warming +season. And all four of them--Mrs. Atterson, Sister, Old Lem, and Hiram +himself--enjoyed the work to the full. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. TOMATOES AND TROUBLE + +Hiram Strong had decided that the market prospects of Scoville +prophesied a good price for early tomatoes. He advised, therefore, a +good sized patch of this vegetable. + +He had planted in the window boxes seed of several different varieties. +He had transplanted to the coldframe strong plants numbering nearly five +hundred. He believed that, under garden cultivation, a tomato plant that +would not yield fifty cents worth of fruit was not worth bothering +with, while a dollar from a single plant was not beyond the bounds of +probability. + +It was safe, Hiram very well knew, to set out tomato plants in this +locality much before the middle of May; yet he was willing to take some +risks, and go to some trouble, for the sake of getting early ripened +tomatoes into the Scoville market. + +As Henry Pollock had prophesied, Hiram did not see much of his friend +during corn-planting time. The Pollocks put nearly fifty acres in corn, +and the whole family helped in the work, including Mrs. Pollock herself, +and down to the child next to the baby. This little toddler amused his +younger brother, and brought water to the field for the workers. + +Other families in the neighborhood did the same, Hiram noticed. They all +strained every effort to put in corn, cultivating as big a crop as they +possibly could handle. + +This was why locally grown vegetables were scarce in Scoville. And the +young farmer proposed to take advantage of this condition of affairs to +the best of his ability. + +If they were only to remain here on the farm long enough to handle this +one crop, Hiram determined to make that crop pay his employer as well as +possible, although he, himself, had no share in such profit. + +Henry Pollock, however, came along while Hiram was making ready his plat +in the garden for tomatoes. The young farmer was setting several rows of +two-inch thick stakes across the garden, sixteen feet apart in the row, +the rows four feet apart. The stakes themselves were about four feet out +of the ground. + +“What ye doin' there, Hiram?” asked Henry, curiously. “Building a +fence?” + +“Not exactly.” + +“Ain't goin' to have a chicken run out here in the garden, be ye?” + +“I should hope not! The chickens on this place will never mix with the +garden trucks, if I have any say about it,” declared Hiram, laughing. + +“By Jo!” exclaimed Henry. “Dad says Maw's dratted hens eat up a couple +hundred dollars' worth of corn and clover every year for him-runnin' +loose as they do.” + +“Why doesn't he build your mother proper runs, then, plant green stuff +in several yards, and change the flock over, from yard to yard?” “Oh, +hens won't do well shut up; Maw says so,” said Henry, repeating the +lazy farmer's unfounded declaration-probably originated ages ago, when +poultry was first domesticated. + +“I'll show you, next year, if we are around here,” said Hiram, “whether +poultry will do well enclosed in yards.” + +“I told mother you didn't let your chickens run free, and had no hens +with them,” said Henry, thoughtfully. + +“No. I do not believe in letting anything on a farm get into lazy +habits. A hen is primarily intended to lay eggs. I send them back to +work when they have hatched out their brood. + +“Those home-made brooders of ours keep the chicks quite as warm, and +never peck the little fellows, or step upon them, as the old hen often +does.” + +“That's right, I allow,” admitted Henry, grinning broadly. + +“And some hens will traipse chicks through the grass and weeds as far +as turkeys. No, sir! Send the hens back to business, and let the chicks +shift for themselves. They'll do better.” + +“Them there in the pens certainly do look healthy,” said his friend. +“But you ain't said what you was doin' here, Hiram, setting these +stakes?” + +“Why, I'll tell you,” returned Hiram. “This is my tomato patch.” + +“By Jo!” ejaculated Henry. “You don't want to set tomatoes so fur apart, +do you?” + +“No, no,” laughed Hiram. “The posts are to string wires on. The tomatoes +will be two feet apart in the row. As they grow I tie them to the wires, +and so keep the fruit off the ground. + +“The tomato ripens better and more evenly, and the fruit will come +earlier, especially if I pinch back the ends of the vine from time to +time, and remove some of the side branches.” + +“We don't do all that to raise a tomato crop. And we'll put in five +acres for the cannery this year, as usual,” said Henry, with some scorn. + +“We run the rows out four feet apart, like you do, throwing up a list, +in fact. Then father goes ahead with a stick, making a hole for the +plant every three feet, so't they'll be check-rowed and we can cultivate +them both ways--and we all set the plants. + +“We never hand-hoe 'em--it don't pay. The cannery isn't giving but +fifteen cents a basket this year--and it's got to be a full five-eighths +basket, too, for they weigh 'em.” + +Hiram looked at him with a quizzical smile. + +“So you set about thirty-six hundred and forty plants to the acre?” he +said. + +“I reckon so.” + +“And you'll have five acres of tomatoes?” + +“Yep. So Dad says. He has contracted for that many. But our plants +don't begin to be big enough to set out yet. We have to keep 'em covered +nights.” + +“And I expect to have about five hundred plants in this patch,” said +Hiram, smiling. “I tell you what, Henry.” + +“Huh?” said the other boy. “I bet I take in from my patch--net income, I +mean--this year as much as your father gets at the cannery for his whole +crop.” + +“Nonsense!” cried Henry. “Maybe Dad'll make a hundred, or a hundred and +twenty-five dollars. Sometimes tomatoes run as high as thirty dollars an +acre around here.” + +“Wait and see,” said Hiram, laughing. “It is going to cost me more to +raise my crop, and market it, that's true. But if your father doesn't do +better with his five acres than you say, I'll beat him.” + +“You can't do it, Hiram,” cried Henry. “I can try, anyway,” said Hiram, +more quietly, but with confidence. “We'll see.” + +“And say,” Henry added, suddenly, “I was going to tell you something. +You won't raise these tomatoes--nor no other crop--if Pete Dickerson can +stop ye.” + +“What's the matter with Pete now?” asked Hiram, troubled by thought of +the secret enemy who had already struck at him in the dark. + +“He was blowing about what he'd do to you down at the crossroads last +evening,” said Henry. “He and his father both hate you like poison, I +expect. + +“And the fellers down to Cale Schell's are always stirrin' up trouble. +They think it is sport. Why, Pete got so mad last night he could ha' +chewed tacks!” + +“I have said nothing about Pete to anybody,” said Hiram, firmly. + +“That don't matter. They say you have. They tell Pete a whole lot of +stuff just to see him git riled. + +“And last night he slopped over. He said if you reported around that he +put fire to Mis' Atterson's woods, he'd put it to the house and barns! +Oh, he was wild.” + +Hiram's face flushed, and then paled. + +“Did Pete try to bum the woods, Hiram?” queried Henry, shrewdly. + +“I never even said I thought so to you, have I?” asked the young farmer, +sternly. + +“Nope. I only heard that fire got into the woods by accident, when I +was in town. Somebody was hunting through there for coon, and saw the +burned-over place. That's all the fellers at Cale's place knew, too, I +reckon; but they jest put it up to Pete to mad him.” + +“And they succeeded, did they?” said Hiram, sternly. + +“I reckon.” + +“Loose-mouthed people make more trouble in a community than downright +mean ones,” declared Hiram. “If I have any serious trouble with the +Dickersons, like enough it will be because of the interference of the +other neighbors.” + +“But,” said Henry, preparing to go on, “Pete wouldn't dare fire your +stable now--after sayin' he'd do it. He ain't quite so big a fool as all +that.” + +But Hiram was not so sure. He had this additional trouble on his mind +from this very hour, though he never said a word to Mrs. Atterson about +it. + +But every night before he went to bed be made around of the outbuildings +to make sure that everything was right before he slept. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. “CORN THAT'S CORN” + +Hiram caught sight of Pepper in town one day and went after him. He knew +the real estate man had returned from his business trip, and the fact +that the matter of the option was hanging fire, and troubling Mrs. +Atterson exceedingly, urged Hiram go counter to Mr. Strickland's advice. + +The lawyer had said: “Let sleeping dogs lie.” Pepper had made no move, +however, and the uncertainty was very trying both for the young farmer +and his employer. + +“How about that option you talked about, Mr. Pepper?” asked the “youth. +Are you going to exercise it?” + +“I've got time enough, ain't I?” returned the real estate man, eyeing +Hiram in his very slyest way. + +“I expect you have--if it really runs a year.” + +“You seen it, didn't you?” demanded Pepper. + +“But we'd like Mr. Strickland to see it.” + +“He's goin' to act for Mrs. Atterson?” queried the man, with a scowl. + +“Oh, yes.” + +“Well, he'll see it-when I'm ready to take it up. Don't you fret,” + retorted Pepper, and turned away. + +This did not encourage the young farmer, nor was there anything in the +man's manner to yield hope to Mrs. Atterson that she could feel secure +in her title to the farm. So Hiram said nothing to her about meeting the +man. + +But the youth was very much puzzled. It really did seem as though Pepper +was afraid to show that paper to Mr. Strickland. + +“There's something queer about it, I believe,” declared the youth to +himself. “Somewhere there is a trick. He's afraid of being tripped up on +it. But, why does he wait, if he knows the railroad is going to demand a +strip of the farm and he can get a good price for it? + +“Perhaps he is waiting to make sure that the railroad will condemn a +piece of Mrs. Atterson's farm. If the board should change the route +again, Pepper would have a farm on his hands that he might not be able +to sell immediately at a profit. + +“For we must confess, that sixteen hundred dollars, as farms have sold +in the past around here, is a good price for the Atterson place. That's +why Uncle Jeptha was willing to give an option for a month--if that was, +in the beginning, the understanding the old man had of his agreement +with Pepper. + +“However, we might as well go ahead with the work, and take what comes +to us in the end. I know no other way to do,” quoth Hiram, with a sigh. + +For he could not be very cheerful with the prospect of making only a +single crop on the place. His profit was to have come out of the second +year's crop--and, he felt, out of that bottom land which had so charmed +him on the day he and Henry Pollock had gone over the Atterson Place. + +Riches lay buried in that six acres of bottom. Hiram had read up on +onion culture, and he believed that, if he planted his seed in hot beds, +and transplanted the young onions to the rich soil in this bottom, he +could raise fully as large onions as they did in either Texas or the +Bermudas. + +“Of course, they have the advantage of a longer season down there,” + thought Hiram, “and cheap labor. But maybe I can get cheap labor right +around here. The children of these farmers are used to working in the +fields. I ought to be able to get help pretty cheap. + +“And when it comes to the market--why, I've got the Texas growers, at +least, skinned a little! I can reach either the Philadelphia or New York +market in a day. Yes; given the right conditions, onions ought to pay +big down there on that lowland.” + +But this was not the only crop possibility be turned over in his mind. +There were other vegetables that would grow luxuriantly on that bottom +land--providing, always, the flood did not come and fulfill Henry +Pollock's prophecy. + +“Two feet of water on that meadow, eh?” thought Hiram. “Well, that +certainly would be bad. I wouldn't want that to happen after the ground +was plowed this year, even. It would tear up the land, and sour it, and +spoil it for a corn-crop, indeed.” + +So he was down a good deal to the river's edge, watching the ebb and +flow of the stream. A heavy rain would, over night, fill the river to +its very brim and the open field, even beyond the marshy spot, would be +a-slop with standing water. + +“It sure wouldn't grow alfalfa,” chuckled Hiram to himself one day. “For +the water rises here a good deal closer to the surface than four feet, +and alfalfa farmers declare that if the springs rise that high, there is +no use in putting in alfalfa. Why! I reckon just now the water is within +four inches of the top of the ground.” + +If the river remained so high, and the low ground so saturated with +water, he knew, too, that he could not get the six acres plowed in time +to put in corn this year. And it was this year's crop he must think +about first. + +Even if Pepper did not exercise his option, and turn Mrs. Atterson +out of the place, a big commercial crop of onions, or any other +better-paying crop, could only be tried the second year. + +Hiram had got his seed corn for the upland piece of the man who raised +the best corn in the community. He had tried the fertility of each ear, +discarded those which proved weakly, or infertile, and his stand of corn +for the four acres, which was now half hand high, was the best of any +farmer between the Atterson place and town. + +But this corn was a hundred-and-ten-day variety. The farmer he got it of +told him that he had raised a crop from a piece planted the day before +the Fourth of July; but it was safer to get it in at least by June +fifteenth. + +And here it was past June first, and the meadow land had not yet been +plowed. + +“However,” Hiram said to Henry, when they walked down to the riverside +on Sunday afternoon, “I'm going ahead on Faith--just as the minister +said in church this morning. If Faith can move mountains, we'll give it +a chance to move something right down here.” + +“I dunno, Hiram,” returned the other boy, shaking his head. “Father says +he'll git in here for you with three head and a Number 3 plow by the +middle of this week if you say so--'nless it rains again, of course. But +he's afeared you're goin' to waste Mrs. Atterson's money for her.” + +“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” quoted Hiram, grimly. “If a farmer +didn't take chances every year, the whole world would starve to death!” + +“Well,” returned Henry, smiling too, “let the other fellow take the +chances--that's dad's motter.” + +“Yes. And the 'chancey' fellow skims the cream of things every time. +No, sir!” declared the young fellow, “I'm going to be among the +cream-skimmers, or I won't be a farmer at all.” + +So the plow was put into the bottom-land Wednesday--and put in deep. By +Friday night the whole piece was plowed and partly harrowed. + +Hiram had drawn lime for this bottom-land, proposing to use beside only +a small amount of fertilizer. He spread this lime from his one-horse +wagon, while Henry drag-harrowed behind him, and by Saturday noon the +job was done. + +The horses had not mired at all, much to Mr. Pollock's surprise. And the +plow had bit deep. All the heavy sod of the piece was covered well, and +the seed bed was fairly level--for corn. + +Although the Pollocks did not work on Saturday afternoon, Hiram did +not feel as though he could stop at this time. Most of the farmers had +already planted their last piece of corn. Monday would be the fifteenth +of the month. + +So the young farmer got his home-made corn-row marker down to the +river-bottom and began marking the piece that afternoon. + +This marker ran out three rows at each trip across the field, and with +a white stake at either end, the youth managed to run his rows very +straight. He had a good eye. + +In this case he did not check-row his field. The land was +rich--phenomenally rich, he believed. If he was going to have a crop of +corn here, he wanted a crop worth while. + +On the uplands the farmers were satisfied with from thirty to fifty +baskets of ear-corn to the acre. If this lowland was what he believed it +was, Hiram was sure it would make twice that. + +And at that his corn crop here would only average twenty-five dollars to +the acre--not a phenomenal profit for Mrs. Atterson in that. + +But the land would be getting into shape for a better crop, and although +corn is a crop that will soon impoverish ground, if planted year after +year on the same piece, Hiram knew that the humus in this soil on the +lowland was almost inexhaustible. + +So he marked his rows the long way of the field--running with the river. + +One of the implements left by Uncle Jeptha had been a one-horse +corn-planter with a fertilizer attachment. Hiram used this, dropping +two or three grains twenty-four inches apart, and setting the fertilizer +attachment to one hundred and fifty pounds to the acre. + +He was until the next Wednesday night planting the piece. Meanwhile it +had not rained, and the river continued to recede. It was now almost +as low as it had been the day Lettie Bronson's boating party had been +“wrecked” under the big sycamore. + +Hiram had not seen the Bronsons for some weeks, but about the time he +got his late corn planted, Mr. Bronson drove into the Atterson yard, and +found Hiram cultivating his first corn with the five-tooth cultivator. + +“Well, well, Hiram!” exclaimed the Westerner, looking with a broad smile +over the field. “That's as pretty a field of corn as I ever saw. I don't +believe there is a hill missing.” + +“Only a few on the far edge, where the moles have been at work.” + +“Moles don't eat corn, Hiram.” + +“So they say,” returned the young farmer, quietly. “I never could make +up my mind about it. + +“I'm sure, however, that if they are only after slugs and worms which +are drawn to the corn hills by the commercial fertilizer, the moles do +fully as much damage as the slugs would. + +“You see, they make a cavity under the corn hill, and the roots of the +plant wither. Excuse me, but I'd rather have Mr. Mole in somebody else's +garden.” + +Mr. Bronson laughed. “Well, what the little gray fellows eat won't kill +us. But they do spoil otherwise handsome rows. How did you get such a +good stand of corn, Hiram?” + +“I tested the seed in a seed box early in the spring. I wouldn't plant +corn any other way. Aside from the hills the moles have spoiled, and a +few an old crow pulled up, I've got no re-planting to do. + +“And replanted hills are always behind the crop, and seldom make +anything but fodder. If it wasn't for the look of the field, I'd never +re-plant a hill of corn. + +“Of course, I've got to thin this--two grains in the hill is enough on +this land.” + +Mr. Bronson looked at him with growing surprise. + +“Why, my boy, you talk just as though you had tilled the ground for a +score of years. Who taught you so much about farming?” + +“One of the best farmers who ever lived,” said Hiram, with a smile. “My +father. And he taught me to go to the correct sources for information, +too.” + +“I believe you!” exclaimed Mr. Bronson. “And you're going to have 'corn +that's corn', as we say in my part of the country, on this piece of +land.” + +“Wait!” said Hiram, smiling and shaking his head. + +“Wait for what?” + +“Wait till you see the corn on my bottom-land--if the river down there +doesn't drown it out. If we don't have too much rain, I'm going to have +corn on that river-bottom that will beat anything in this county, Mr. +Bronson.” + +And the young farmer spoke with assurance. + + + +CHAPTER XXV. THE BARBECUE + +On the seventeenth day of June Hiram had “grappled out” a mess of +potatoes for their dinner. They were larger than hen's eggs and came +upon the table mealy and white. + +Potatoes were selling at retail in Scoville for two dollars the bushel. +Before the end of that week--after the lowland corn was planted--Hiram +dug two rows of potatoes, sorted them, and carted them to town, together +with some bunched beets, a few bunches of young carrots, radishes and +salad. + +The potatoes he sold for fifty cents the five-eighth basket, from house +to house, and he brought back, for his load of vegetables, ten dollars +and twenty cents, which he handed to Mrs. Atterson, much to that lady's +joy. + +“My soul and body, Hiram!” she exclaimed. “This is just a God-send--no +less. Do you know that we've sold nigh twenty-five dollars' worth of +stuff already this spring, besides that pair of pigs I let Pollock have, +and the butter to St. Beris?” + +“And it's only a beginning,” Hiram told her. “Wait til' the peas come +along--we'll have a mess for the table in a few days now. And the sweet +corn and tomatoes. + +“If you and Sister can do the selling, it will help out a whole lot, of +course. I wish we had another horse.” + +“Or an automobile,” said Sister, clapping her hands. “Wouldn't it be +fine to run into town in an auto, with a lot of vegetables? Then Hiram +could keep right at work with the horse and not have to stop to harness +up for us.” + +“Shucks, child!” admonished Mrs. Atterson. “What big idees you do get in +that noddle o' yourn.” + +The girls' boarding school and the two hotels proved good customers for +Hiram's early vegetables; for nobody around Scoville had potatoes +at this time, and Hiram's early peas were two weeks ahead of other +people's. + +Having got a certain number of towns folks to expect him at least thrice +a week, when other farmers had green stuff for sale they could not +easily “cut out” Hiram later in the season. + +And not always did the young farmer have to leave his work at home to +deliver the vegetables and Mrs. Atterson's butter. Sister, or the old +lady herself, could go to town if the load was not too heavy. + +Of course, it cost considerable to live. And hogfood and grain for the +horse and cow had to be bought. Hiram was fattening four of the spring +shoats against winter. Two they could sell and two kill for their own +use. + +“Goin' to be big doin's on the Fourth this year, Hiram,” said Henry +Pollock, meeting the young farmer on the road from town one day. “Heard +about it?” + +“In Scoville, do you mean? They're going to have a 'Safe and Sane' +Fourth, the Banner says.” + +“Nope. We don't think much of goin' to town Fourth of July. And this +year there's goin' to be a big picnic in Langdon's Grove--that's up the +river, you know.” + +“A public picnic?” + +“Sure. A barbecue, we call it,” said Henry. “We have one at the Grove +ev'ry year. This time the two Sunday Schools is goin' to join and have a +big time. You and Sister don't want to miss it. That Mr. Bronson's goin' +to give a whole side o' beef, they tell me, to roast over the fires.” + +“A big banquet is in prospect, is it?” asked Hiram, smiling. + +“And a stew! Gee! you never eat one o' these barbecue stews, did ye? +Some of us will go huntin' the day before, and there'll be birds, and +squirrels, as well as chickens in that stew--and lima beans, and corn, +and everything good you can think of!” and Henry smacked his lips in +prospect. + +Then he added, bethinking himself of his errand: + +“Everybody chips in and gives the things to eat. What'll you give, +Hiram?” + +“Some vegetables,” said Hiram, quickly. “Mrs. Atterson won't object, I +guess. Do they want tomatoes for their stew?” + +“Won't be no tomatoes ripe, Hiram,” said Henry, decidedly. + +“There won't, eh? You come out and take a look at mine,” said Hiram, +laughing. + +Of all the rows of vegetables in Hiram's garden plot, the thriftiest +and handsomest were the trellised tomato plants. It took nearly half of +Sister's time to keep the plants tied up and pinched back, as Hiram had +taught her. + +But the stalks were already heavily laden with fruit; and those hanging +lowest on the sturdy vines were already blushing. + +“By Jo!” gasped Henry. “You've done it, ain't you? But the cannery won't +take 'em yet awhile--and they'll all be gone before September.” + +“The cannery won't get many of my tomatoes,” laughed Hiram. “And these +vines properly trained and cultivated as they are, will bear fruit up to +frost. You wait and see.” + +“I'll have to tell dad to come and look at these. I dunno, Hiram, if you +can sell 'em at retail, but you'll git as much for 'em as dad does for +his whole crop--just as you said.” + +“That's what I'm aiming for,” responded Hiram. “But would the ladies who +cook the barbecue stew care for tomatoes, do you think?” + +“We never git tomatoes this early,” said Henry. “How about potatoes? And +there ain't many folks dug any of theirn yet, but you.” + +So, after speaking with Mrs. Atterson, Hiram agreed to supply a barrel +of potatoes for the barbecue, and the day before the Fourth, one of the +farmers came with a wagon to pick up the supplies. + +Everybody at the Atterson farm would go to the grove--that was +understood. + +“If one knocks off work, the others can,” declared Mother Atterson. “You +see that things is left all right for the critters, Hiram, and we'll +tend to things indoors so that we can be gone till night.” + +“And do, Hiram, look out for my poults the last thing,” cried Sister. + +Mrs. Larriper had given Sister a setting of ten turkey eggs and every +one of them had hatched under one of Mrs. Atterson's motherly old hens. +At first the girl had kept the young turkeys and their foster mother +right near the house, so that she could watch them carefully. + +But poults are rangy, and these being particularly strong and thrifty, +they soon ran the old hen pretty nearly to death. + +So Hiram had built a coop into which they could go at night, safe from +any vermin, and set it far down in the east lot, near the woods. Sister +usually went down with a little grain twice a day to call them up, and +keep them tame. + +“But when they get big enough to roost in the fall, I expect we'll have +to gather that crop with a gun,” Hiram told her, laughing. + +Many of the farmers teams were strung out along the road long before +Hiram was ready to set out. He had made sure that the spring wagon was +in good shape, and he had built an extra seat for it, so that the four +rode very comfortably. + +Like every other Fourth of July, the sun was broiling hot! And the dust +rose in clouds as the faster teams passed their slow old nag. + +Mrs. Atterson sat up very primly in her best silk, holding a parasol and +wearing a pair of lace mits that had appeared on state occasions for the +past twenty years, at least. + +Sister was growing like a weed, and it was hard to keep her skirts and +sleeves at a proper length. But she was an entirely different looking +girl from the boarding house slavey whom Hiram remembered so keenly back +in Crawberry. + +As for Old Lem Camp, he was as cheerful as Hiram had ever seen him, and +showed a deal of interest in everything about the farm, and had proved +himself, as Mrs. Atterson had prophesied, a great help. + +Scarcely a house along the road was not shut up and the dooryard +deserted--for everybody was going to the barbecue. All but the Dickerson +family. Sam was at work in the fields, and the haggard Mrs. Dickerson +looked dumbly from her porch, with a crying baby in her scrawny arms as +the Attersons and Hiram passed. + +But Pete was at the barbecue. He was there when Hiram arrived, and he +was making himself quite as prominent as anybody. + +Indeed, he made himself so obnoxious finally, that one of the rough men +who was keeping up the fires threatened to chuck Pete into the biggest +one, and then cool him off in the river. + +Otherwise, however, the barbecue passed off very pleasantly. The men who +governed it saw that no liquor was brought along, and the unruly element +to which Pete belonged was kept under with an iron hand. + +There was so little “fun”, of a kind, in Pete's estimation that, after +the big event of the day--the banquet--he and some of his friends +disappeared. And the picnicking ground was a much quieter and pleasanter +place after their departure. + +The newcomers into the community made many friends and acquaintances +that day. Sister was going to school in the fall, and she found many +girls of her age whom she would meet there. + +Mrs. Atterson met the older ladies, and was invited to join no less than +two “Ladies' Aids”, and, as she said, “if she called on all the +folks she'd agreed to visit, she'd be goin' ev'ry day from then till +Christmas!” + +As for Hiram, the men and older boys were rather inclined to jolly him +a bit. Not many of them had been upon the Atterson place to see what +he had done, but they had heard some stories of his proposed crops that +amused them. + +When Mr. Bronson, however, whom the local men knew to be a big farmer in +the Middle West, and who owned many farms out there now, spoke favorably +of Hiram's work, the local men listened respectfully. + +“The boy's got it in him to do something,” the Westerner said, in his +hearty fashion. “You're eating his potatoes now, I understand. Which one +of you can dig early potatoes like those? + +“And he's got the best stand of corn in the county.” + +“On that river-bottom, you mean?” asked one. + +“And on the upland, too. You fellows want to look about you a little. +Most of you don't see beyond the end of your noses. You watch out, +or Hiram Strong is going to beat every last one of you this year--and +that's a run-down farm he's got, at that.” + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. SISTER'S TURKEYS + +But Lettie was not at the barbecue, and to tell the truth, Hiram Strong +was disappointed. + +Despite the fact that she had seemed inclined to snub him, the young +farmer was vastly taken with the pretty girl. He had seen nobody about +Scoville as attractive as Lettie--nor anywhere else, for that matter! + +He was too proud to call at the Bronson place, although Mr. Bronson +invited him whenever he saw Hiram. And at first, Lettie had asked him to +come, too. + +But the Western girl did not like being thwarted in any matter--even the +smallest. And when Hiram would not come to take Pete Dickerson's place, +the very much indulged girl had showed the young farmer that she was +offended. + +However, the afternoon at Langdon's Grove passed very pleasantly, and +Hiram and his party did not arrive at the farm again until dusk had +fallen. + +“I'll go down and shut your turkeys up for the night, Sister,” Hiram +said, after he had done the other chores for he knew the girl would be +afraid to go so far from the house by lantern-light. + +And when he reached the turkey coop, 'way down in the field, Hiram was +very glad indeed that he had come instead of the girl. + +For the coop was empty. There wasn't a turkey inside, or thereabout. It +had been dark an hour and more, then, and the poults should long since +have been hovered in the coop. + +Had some marauding fox, or other “varmint”, run the young turkeys off +their reservation? That seemed improbable at this time of year--and so +early in the evening. Foxes do not usually go hunting before midnight, +nor do other predatory animals. + +Hiram had brought the barn lantern with him, and he took a look around +the neighborhood of the empty coop. + +“My goodness!” he mused, “Sister will cry her eyes out if anything's +happened to those little turks. Now, what's this?” + +The ground was cut up at a little distance from the coop. He examined +the tracks closely. + +They were fresh--very fresh indeed. The wheel tracks of a light wagon +showed, and the prints of a horse's shod hoofs. + +The wagon had been driven down from the main road, and had turned +sharply here by the coop. Hiram knew, too, that it had stood there for +some time, for the horse had moved uneasily. + +Of course, that proved the driver had gotten out of the wagon and left +the horse alone. Doubtless there was but one thief--for it was +positive that the turkeys had been removed by a two-footed--not a +four-footed--marauder. + +“And who would be mean enough to steal Sister's turkeys? Almost +everybody in the neighborhood has a few to fatten for Thanksgiving and +Christmas. Who--did--this?” + +He followed the wheel marks of the wagon to the road. He saw the track +where it turned into the field, and where it turned out again. And +it showed plainly that the thief came from town, and returned in that +direction. + +Of course, in the roadway it was impossible to trace the particular +tracks made by the thief's horse and wagon. Too many other vehicles had +been over the road within the past hour. + +The thief must have driven into the field just after night-fall, plucked +the ten young turkeys, one by one, out of the coop, tying their feet +and flinging them into the bottom of his wagon. Covered with a bag, the +frightened turkeys would never utter a peep while it remained dark. + +“I hate to tell Sister--I can't tell her,” Hiram said, as he went slowly +back to the house. For Sister had been “counting chickens” again, and +she had figured that, at eighteen cents per pound, live weight, the ten +turkeys would pay for all the clothes she would need that winter, and +give her “Christmas money”, too. + +The young farmer shrank from meeting the girl again that night, and he +delayed going into the house as long as possible. Then he found they had +all retired, leaving him a cold supper at the end of the kitchen table. + +The disappearance of the turkeys kept Hiram tossing, wakeful, upon his +bed for some hours. He could not fail to connect this robbery with the +other things that had been done, during the past weeks, to injure those +living at the Atterson farm. + +Was the secret enemy really Peter Dickerson? And had Pete committed this +crime now? + +Yet the horse and wagon had come from the direction opposite the +Dickerson farm, and had returned as it came. + +“I don't know whether I am accusing that fellow wrongfully, or not,” + muttered Hiram, at last. “But I am going to find out. Sister isn't going +to lose her turkeys without my doing everything in my power to get them +back and punish the thief.” + +He usually arose in the morning before anybody else was astir, so it +was easy for Hiram to slip out of the house and down to the field to the +empty turkey coop. + +The marks of horse and wagon were quite as plain in the faint light of +dawn as they had been the night before. In the darkness the thief +had driven his wagon over some small stumps, amid which his horse had +scrambled in some difficulty, it was plain. + +Hiram, tracing out these marks as a Red Indian follows a trail, +saw something upon the edge of one of the half-decayed stumps that +interested him greatly. + +He stood up the next moment with this clue in his hand--a white, coarse +hair, perhaps four inches in length. + +“That was scraped off the horse's fetlock as he scrambled over this +stump,” muttered Hiram. “Now, who drives a white horse, or a horse with +white feet, in this neighborhood? + +“Can I narrow the search down in this way, I wonder?” and for some +moments the youth stood there, in the growing light of early morning, +canvassing the subject from that angle. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. RUN TO EARTH + +A broad streak of crimson along the eastern horizon, over the treetops, +announced the coming of the sun when Hiram Strong reached the automobile +road to which he, on the previous night, had traced the thief that had +stolen Sister's poults. + +Now he looked at the track again. It surely had come from the direction +of Scoville, and it turned back that way. + +Yet he looked at the white horse-hair scraped off upon the stump, and +he turned his back upon these signs and strode along the road toward his +own home. + +Smoke was just curling from the Atterson chimney; Sister, or Mrs. +Atterson, was just building the fire. But they did not see Hiram as he +went by. + +Hiram's quest led him past the place and to the Dickerson farm. There +nobody was yet astir, save the mules and horses in the barnyard, who +called as he went by, hoping for their breakfast. + +Hiram knew that the Dickersons had turkeys and, like most of the other +farmers, cooped them in distant fields away from the house. He found +three coops in the middle of an old oat-field tinder a spreading beech. + +The old turks roosted upon the limbs of the beech at night; they were +already up and away, hunting grasshoppers for breakfast. But quite a few +poults were running and peeping about the coops, with two hen turkeys +playing guard to them. + +Hiram saw where a wagon had been driven in here, and turned, too. The +tracks were made recently. And one of the coops was shut tight, although +he knew by the rustling within that there were young turkeys in it. + +It was too dark within the hutch, however, for the youth to number the +poults confined there. + +He strolled back across the fields to the rear of the Dickerson house. +Passing the barnyard first, he halted and examined the bright bay horse, +with white feet--the one that Pete had driven to the barbecue the day +before--the only one Pete was ever allowed to drive off the farm. + +The Dickersons, father and son, were not as early risers as most farmers +in those parts. At least, they were not up betimes on this morning. + +But Mrs. Dickerson had built the fire now and was stirring about the +porch when Hiram arrived at the step, filling her kettle at the pump. + +“Mornin', Mr. Strong,” she said, in her startled way, eyeing Hiram +askance. + +She was a lean, sharp-featured woman, with a hopeless droop to her +shoulders. + +“Good-morning, Mrs. Dickerson,” said Hiram, gravely. “How many young +turkeys have you this year?” + +The woman shrank back and almost dropped the kettle she had filled to +the pump-bench. Her eyes glared. + +Somewhere in the house a baby squatted; then a door banged and Hiram +heard Dickerson's heavy step descending the stair. + +“You have a coop of poults down there, Mrs. Dickerson,” continued Hiram, +confidently, “that I know belongs to us. I traced Pete's tracks with the +wagon and the white-footed horse. Now, this is going to make trouble for +Pete----” + +“What's the matter with Pete, now?” demanded Dickerson's harsh voice, +and he came out upon the porch. + +He scowled at sight of Hiram, and continued: + +“What are you roaming around here for, Strong? Can't you keep on your +own side of the fence?” + +“It's little I'll ever trouble you, Mr. Dickerson,” said Hiram, +“sharply, if you and yours don't trouble me, I can assure you.” + +“What's eating you now?” demanded the man, roughly. + +“Why, I'll tell you, Mr. Dickerson,” said Hiram, quickly. “Somebody's +stolen our turkeys--ten of them. And I have found them down there where +your turkeys roost. The natural inference is that somebody here knows +about it----” + +Dickerson--just out of his bed and as ugly as many people are when they +first get up--leaped for the young farmer from the porch, and had him in +his grip before Hiram could help himself. + +The woman screamed. There was a racket in the house, for some of the +children had been watching from the window. + +“Dad's goin' to lick him!” squalled one of the girls. + +“You come here and intermate that any of my family's thieves, do you?” + the angry man roared. + +“Stop that, Sam Dickerson!” cried his wife. She suddenly gained courage +and ran to the struggling pair, and tried to haul Sam away from Hiram. + +“The boy's right,” she gasped. “I heard Pete tellin' little Sam last +night what he'd done. It's come to a pretty pass, so it has, if you are +goin' to uphold that bad boy in thieving----” + +“Hush up, Maw!” cried Pete's voice from the house. + +“Come out here, you scalawag!” ordered his father, relaxing his hold on +Hiram. + +Pete slouched out on the porch, wearing a grin that was half sheepish, +half worried. + +“What's this Strong says about turkeys?” demanded Sam Dickerson, +sternly. + +“'Tain't so!” declared Pete. “I ain't seen no turkeys.” + +“I have found them,” said Hiram, quietly. “And the coopful is down +yonder in your lot. You thought to fool me by turning into our farm from +the direction of Scoville, and driving back that way; but you turned +around in the road under that overhanging oak, where I picked Lettie +Bronson off the back of the runaway horse last Spring. + +“Now, those ten turkeys belong to Sister. She'll be heart-broken if +anything happens to them. You have played me several mean tricks since I +have been here, Pete Dickerson----” + +“No, I ain't!” interrupted the boy. + +“Who took the burr off the end of my axle and let me down in the road +that night?” demanded Hiram, his rage rising. + +Pete could not forbear a grin at this remembrance. + +“And who tampered with our pump the next morning? And who watched and +waited till we left the lower meadow that night we burned the rubbish, +and then set fire to our woods----” + +Mrs. Dickerson screamed again. “I knew that fire never come by +accident,” she moaned. + +“You shut up, Maw!” admonished her hopeful son again. + +“And now, I've got you,” declared Hiram, with confidence. “I can tell +those ten poults. I marked them for Sister long ago so that, if they +went to the neighbors, they could be easily identified. + +“They're in that shut-up coop down yonder,” continued Hiram, “and unless +you agree to bring them back at once, and put them in our coop, I shall +hitch up and go to town, first thing, and get out a warrant for your +arrest.” + +Sam had remained silent for a minute, or two. Now he said, decidedly: + +“You needn't threaten no more, young feller. I can see plain enough that +Pete's been carrying his fun too far----” + +“Fun!” ejaculated Hiram. + +“That's what I said,” growled Sam. “He'll bring the turkeys back-and +before he has his breakfast, too.” + +“All right,” said Hiram, knowing full well that there was nothing to +be made by quarreling with Sam Dickerson. “His returning the turkeys, +however, will not keep me from speaking to the constable the very next +time Pete plays any of his tricks around our place. + +“It may be 'fun' for him; but it won't look so funny from the inside of +the town jail.” + +He walked off after this threat. And he was sorry he had said it. For he +had no real intention of having Pete arrested, and an empty threat is of +no use to anybody. + +The turkeys came back; Sister did not even know that they had been +stolen, for when she went down to feed them about the middle of the +forenoon, all ten came running to her call. + +But Pete Dickerson ceased from troubling for a time, much to Hiram's +satisfaction. + +Meanwhile the crops were coming on finely. Hiram's tomatoes were +bringing good prices in Scoville, and as he had such a quantity and was +so much earlier than the other farmers around about, he did, as he told +Henry he would do, “skim the cream off the market.” + +He bought some crates and baskets in town, too, and shipped some of +the tomatoes to a produce man he knew in Crawberry--a man whom he could +trust to treat him fairly. During the season that man's checks to Mrs. +Atterson amounted to fifty-four dollars. + +Three times a week the spring wagon went to town with vegetables for the +school, the hotels, and their retail customers. The whole family worked +long hours, and worked hard; but nobody complained. + +No rain fell of any consequence until the latter part of July; and then +there was no danger of the river overflowing and drowning out the corn. + +And that corn! By the last of July it was waist high, growing rank and +strong, and of that black-green color which delights the farmer's eye. + +Mr. Bronson walked down to the river especially to see it. Like Hiram's +upland corn, there was scarcely a hill missing, save where the muskrats +had dug in from the river bank and disturbed the corn hills. + +“That's the finest-looking corn in this county, bar none, Hiram,” + declared Bronson. “I have seldom seen better looking in the rich +bottom-lands of the West. And you certainly do keep it clean, boy.” + +“No use in putting in a crop if you don't 'tend it,” said the young +farmer, sententiously. + +“And what's this along here?” asked the gentleman, pointing to a row or +two of small stuff along the inner edge of the field. + +“I'm trying onions and celery down here. I want to put a commercial crop +into this field next year--if we are let stay here--that will pay Mrs. +Atterson and me a real profit,” and Hiram laughed. + +“What do you call a real profit?” inquired Mr. Bronson, seriously. + +“Four hundred dollars an acre, net,” said the young farmer, promptly. + +“Why, Hiram, you can't do that!” cried the gentleman. + +“It's being done--in other localities and on soil not so rich as +this--and I believe I can do it.” + +“With onions or celery?” “Yes, sir.” “Which--or both?” asked the +Westerner, interested. + +“I am trying them out here, as you see. I believe it will be celery. +This soil is naturally wet, and celery is a glutton for water. Then, it +is a late piece, and celery should be transplanted twice before it is +put in the field, I believe.” + +“A lot of work, boy,” said Mr. Bronson, shaking his head. + +“Well, I never expect to get something for nothing,” remarked Hiram. + +“And how about the onions?” + +“Why, they don't seem to do so well. There is something lacking in the +land to make them do their best. I believe it is too cold. And, then, I +am watching the onion market, and I am afraid that too many people +have gone into the game in certain sections, and are bound to create an +over-supply.” + +The gentleman looked at him curiously. + +“You certainly are an able-minded youngster, Hiram,” he observed. “I +s'pose if you do so well here next year as you expect, a charge of +dynamite wouldn't blast you away from the Atterson farm?” + +“Why, Mr. Bronson,” responded the young farmer, “I don't want to run a +one-horse farm all my life. And this never can be much more. It isn't +near enough to any big city to be a real truck farm--and I'm interested +in bigger things. + +“No, sir. The Atterson Eighty is only a stepping stone for me. I hope +I'll go higher before long.” + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. HARVEST + +But Hiram was not at all sure that he would ever see a celery crop in +this bottom-land. Pepper still “hung fire” and he would not go to Mr. +Strickland with his option. + +“I don't hafter,” he told Hiram. “When I git ready I'll let ye know, be +sure o' that.” + +The fact was that the railroad had made no further move. Mr. Strickland +admitted to Mrs. Atterson that if the strip along the east boundary +of the farm was condemned by the railroad, she ought to get a thousand +dollars for it. + +“But if the railroad board should change its mind again,” added the +lawyer, “sixteen hundred dollars would not be a speculative price to pay +for your farm--and well Pepper knows it.” + +“Then Mr. Damocles's sword has got to hang over us, has it?” demanded +the old lady. + +“I am afraid so,” admitted the lawyer, smiling. + +Mrs. Atterson could not be more troubled than was Hiram himself. Youth +feels the sting of such arrows of fortune more keenly than does age. We +get “case-hardened” to trouble as the years bend our shoulders. + +The thought that he might, after all, get nothing but a hundred dollars +and his board for all the work he had done in preparation for the second +year's crop sometimes embittered Hiram's thoughts. + +Once, when he spoke to Pepper, and the snaky man sneered at him and +laughed, the young farmer came near attacking him then and there in the +street. + +“I certainly could have given that Pepper as good a thrashing as ever he +got,” muttered Hiram. “And even Pete Dickerson never deserved one more +than Pepper.” + +Pete fought shy of Hiram these days, and as the summer waned the young +farmer gradually became less watchful and expectant of trouble from the +direction of the west boundary of the Atterson Eighty. + +But there was little breathing spell for him in the work of the farm. + +“When we lay by the corn, you bet dad an' me goes fishing!” Henry +Pollock told Hiram, one day. + +But it wasn't often that the young farmer could take half a day off for +any such pleasure. + +“You've bit off more'n you kin chaw,” observed Henry. + +“That's all right; I'll keep chewing at it, just the same,” returned +Hiram cheerfully. + +For the truck crop was bringing them in a bigger sum of money than even +Hiram had expected. The season had been very favorable, indeed; Hiram's +vegetables had come along in good time, and even the barrels of sweet +corn he shipped to Crawberry brought a fair price--much better than he +could have got at the local cannery. + +When the tomato pack came on, however, he did sell many baskets of his +“seconds” to the cannery. But the selected tomatoes he continued to ship +to Crawberry, and having established a reputation with his produce man +for handsome and evenly ripened fruit, the prices received were good all +through the season. + +He saw the sum for tomatoes pass the hundred and fifty dollar mark +before frost struck the vines. Even then he was not satisfied. There was +a small cellar under the Atterson house, and when the frosty nights of +October came, Hiram dragged up the vines still bearing fruit, by the +roots, and hung them in the cellar, where the tomatoes continued to +ripen slowly nearly up to Thanksgiving. + +Other crops did almost as well in proportion. He had put in no late +potatoes; but in September he harvested the balance of his early crop +and, as they were a good keeping variety, he knew there would be enough +to keep the family supplied until the next season. + +Of other roots, including a patch of well-grown mangels for Mrs. +Atterson's handsome flock of chickens, there were plenty to carry the +family over the winter. + +As the frosts became harder Hiram dug his root pits in the high, light +soil of the garden, drew pinetags to cover them, and, gradually, as the +winter advanced, heaped the earth over the various piles of roots to +keep them through the winter. + +Meanwhile, in September, corn harvest had come on. The four acres Hiram +had planted below the stables yielded a fair crop, that part of the +land he had been able to enrich with coarse manure showing a much better +average than the remainder. + +The four acres yielded them something over one hundred and sixty baskets +of sound corn which, as corn was then selling for fifty cents per +bushel, meant that the crop was worth about forty dollars. + +As near as Hiram could figure it had cost about fifteen dollars to raise +the crop; therefore the profit to Mrs. Atterson was some twenty-five +dollars. + +Besides the profit from some of the garden crops, this was very small +indeed; as Hiram said, it did not pay well enough to plant small patches +of corn for them to fool with it much. + +“The only way to make a good profit out of corn corn a place like this,” + he said to Henry, who would not be convinced, “is to have a big drove of +hogs and turn them into the field to fatten on the standing corn.” + +“But that would be wasteful!” cried Henry, shocked at the suggestion. + +“Big pork producers do not find it so,” returned Hiram, confidently. “Or +else one wants a drove of cattle to fatten, and cuts the corn green and +shreds it, blowing it into a silo. + +“The idea is to get the cost of the corn crop back through the price +paid by the butcher for your stock, or hogs.” + +“Nobody ever did that around here,” declared young Pollock. + +“And that's why nobody gets ahead very fast around here. Henry, why +don't you strike out and do something new--just to surprise 'em? + +“Stop selling a little tad of this, and a little tad of that off the +farm and stick to the good farmer's rule: 'Never sell anything off the +place that can't walk off.'” + +“I've heard that before,” said Henry, sighing. + +“And even then just so much fertility goes with every yoke of steers +or pair of fat hogs. But it is less loss, in proportion, than when the +corn, or oats, or wheat itself is sold.” + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. LETTIE BRONSON'S CORN HUSKING + +Sister had begun school on the very first day it opened--in September. +She was delighted, for although she had had “lessons” at the +“institution”, they had not been like this regular attendance, with +other free and happy children, at a good country school. + +Sister was growing not alone in body, but in mind. And the improvement +in her appearance was something marvelous. + +“It certainly does astonish me, every time I think o' that youngun +and the way she looked when she come to me from the charity school,” + declared Mother Atterson. + +“Who'd want a better lookin' young'un now? She'd be the pride of any +mother's heart, she'd be. + +“If there's folks belongin' to her, and they have neglected her all +these years, in my opinion they're lackin' in sense, Hiram.” + +“They certainly have been lacking in the milk of human kindness,” + admitted the young farmer. + +“Huh! That milk's easily soured in many folks,” responded Mrs. +Atterson. “But Sister's folks, whoever they be, will be sorry some day.” + +“You don't suppose she really has any family, do you?” demanded Hiram. + +“No father nor mother, I expect. But many a family will get rid of +a young'un too small to be of any use, when they probably have many +children of their own. + +“And if there was a little bait of money coming to the child, as that +lawyer told the institution matron, that would be another reason for +losing her in this great world.” + +“I'm afraid Sister will never find her folks, Mrs. Atterson,” said +Hiram, shaking his head. + +“Huh! If she don't, it's no loss to her. It's loss to them,” declared +the old lady. “And I'd hate to have anybody come and take her away from +us now.” + +Sister no longer wore her short hair in four “pigtails”. She had learned +to dress it neatly like other girls of her age, and although it would +never be like the beautiful blue-black tresses of Lettie Bronson, Hiram +had to admit that the soft brown of Sister's hair, waving so prettily +over her forehead, made the girl's features more than a little +attractive. + +She was an entirely different person, too, from the one who had helped +Lettie and her friends ashore from the grounded motor-boat that day, so +long ago--and so Lettie herself thought when she rode into the Atterson +yard one October day on her bay horse, and Sister met her on the porch. + +“Why, you're Mrs. Atterson's girl, aren't you?” cried Lettie, leaning +from her saddle to offer her hand to Sister. “I wouldn't have known +you.” + +Sister was getting plump, she had roses in her cheeks, and she wore a +neat, whole, and becoming dress. + +“You're Miss Bronson,” said Sister, gravely. “I wouldn't forget you.” + +Perhaps there was something in what Sister said that stung Lettie +Bronson's memory. She flushed a little; but then she smiled most +charmingly and asked for Hiram. + +“Husking corn, Miss, with Henry Pollock, down on the bottom-land.” + +“Oh! way down there? Well! you tell him--Why, I'll want you to come, +too,” laughed Lettie, quite at her best now. + +Nobody could fail to answer Lettie Bronson's smile with its reflection, +when she chose to exert herself in that direction. + +“Why, I just came to tell you both that on Friday we're going to have an +old-fashioned husking-bee for all the young folks of the neighborhood, +at our place. You must come yourself--er--Sister, and tell Hiram to +come, too. + +“Seven o'clock, sharp, remember--and I'll be dreadfully disappointed if +you don't come,” added Lettie, turning her horse's head homeward, and +saying it with so much cordiality that her hearer's heart warmed. + +“She is pretty,” mused Sister, watching the bay horse and its rider +flying along the road. “I don't blame Hiram for thinking she's the very +finest girl in these parts. + +“She is,” declared Sister, emphatically, and shook herself. + +Hiram had finished husking the lowland corn that day, with Henry's help, +and it was all drawn in at night. When the last measured basket was +heaped in the crib by lantern light, the young farmer added up the +figures chalked up on the lintel of the door. + +“For goodness' sake, Hiram! it isn't as much as that, is it?” gasped +Henry, viewing the figures the young farmer wrote proudly in his +memorandum book. + +“Six acres--six hundred and eighty baskets of sound corn,” crowed +“Hiram. And it's corn that is corn, as Mr. Bronson says. + +“It's not quite as hard as the upland corn, for the growing season was +not quite long enough for it; but it's better than the average in the +county----” + +“Three hundred and forty bushel of shelled corn from six acres?” cried +Henry. “I should say it was! It's worth fifty cents now right at the +crib--a hundred and seventy dollars. Hiram! that'll make dad let me go +to the agricultural college.” + +“What?” cried Hiram, surprised and pleased. “Have you really got that +idea in your head?” + +“I been gnawin' on it ever since you talked so last spring,” admitted +his friend, rather shyly. “I told father, and at first he pooh-poohed. + +“But I kept on pointing out to him how much more you knowed than we +did--” + +“That's nonsense, Henry,” interrupted Hiram. “Only about some things. I +wouldn't want to set myself up over the farmers of this neighborhood as +knowing so much.” + +“Well, you've proved it. Dad says so himself. He was taken all aback +when I showed him how you had beat him on the tomato crop. And I been +talking to him about your corn. + +“That hit father where he lived,” chuckled Henry, “for father's a +corn-growing man--and always has been considered so in this county. + +“He watched the way you tilled your crop, and he believed so much +shallow cultivating was wrong, and said so. But he says you beat him +on poor ground; and when I tell him what that lowland figures up, he'll +throw up his hands. + +“And I'm going to take a course in fertilizers, farm management, and the +chemistry of soils,” continued Henry. + +“Just as you say, I believe we have been planting the wrong crops on the +right land! Anyway, I'll find out. I believe we've got a good farm, but +we're not getting out of it what we should.” + +“Well, Henry,” admitted Hiram, slowly, “nothing's pleased me so much +since I came into this neighborhood, as to hear you say this. You get +all you can at the experiment station this winter, and I believe that +your father will soon begin to believe that there is something in 'book +farming', after all.” + +If it had not been for the hair-hung sword over them, Mrs. Atterson and +Hiram would have taken great delight in the generous crops that had been +vouchsafed to them. + +“Still, we can't complain,” said the old lady, “and for the first time +for more'n twenty years I'm going to be really thankful at Thanksgiving +time.” + +“Oh, I believe you!” cried Sister, who heard her. “No boarders.” + +“Nope,” said the old lady, quietly. “You're wrong. For we're going +to have boarders on Thanksgiving Day. I've writ to Crawberry. Anybody +that's in the old house now that wants to come to eat dinner with us, +can come. I'm going to cook the best dinner I ever cooked--and make a +milkpail full of gravy.” + +“I know,” said the good old soul, shaking her head, “that them two old +maids I sold out to have half starved them boys. We ought to be able to +stand even Fred Crackit, and Mr. Peebles, one day in the year.” + +“Well!” returned Sister, thoughtfully. “If you can stand 'em I can. I +never did think I could forgive 'em all--so mean they was to me--and the +hair-pulling and all. + +“But I guess you're right, Mis' Atterson. It's heapin' coals of fire on +their heads, like what the minister at the chapel says.” + +“Good Land o' Goshen, child!” exclaimed the old lady, briskly. “Hot +coals would scotch 'em, and I only want to fill their stomachs for +once.” + +The husking at the Bronsons was a very well attended feast, indeed. +There was a great barn floor, and on this were heaped the ear-corn in +the husks--not too much, for Lettie proposed having the floor cleared +and swept for square dancing, and later for the supper. + +She had a lot of her school friends at the husking, and at first the +neighborhood boys and girls were bashful in the company of the city +girls. + +But after they got to work husking the corn, and a few red ears had been +found (for which each girl or boy had to pay a forfeit) they became a +very hilarious company indeed. + +Now, Lettie, broadly hospitable, had invited the young folk far and +wide. Even those whom she had not personally seen, were expected to +attend. + +So it was not surprising that Pete Dickerson should come, despite the +fact that Mr. Bronson had once discharged him from his employ--and for +serious cause. + +But Pete was not a thin-skinned person. Where there was anything “doing” + he wanted to cut a figure. And his desire to be important, and be marked +by the company, began to make him objectionable before the evening was +half over. + +For instance, he thought it was funny to take a run down the long barn +floor and leap over the heads of those huskers squatting about a heap +of corn, and land with his heavy boots on the apex of the pile, thus +scattering the ears in all directions. + +He got long straws, too, and tickled the backs, of the girls' necks; or +he dumped handfuls of bran down their backs, or shook oats into their +hair--and the oats stuck. + +Mr. Bronson could not see to everything; and Pete was very sly at his +tricks. A girl would shriek in one corner, and the lout would quickly +transport himself to a distant spot. + +When the corn was swept aside, and the floor cleared for the dance, Pete +went beyond the limit, however. He had found a pail of soft-soap in the +shed and while the crowd was out of the barn, playing a “round game” + in the yard while it was being swept, Pete slunk in with the soap and a +swab, and managed to spread a good deal of the slippery stuff around on +the boards. + +A broom would not remove this soft-soap. When the hostler swept, he +only spread it. And when the dancing began many a couple measured their +length on the planks, to Pete's great delight. + +But the hired man had observed Pete sneaking about while he was removing +the last of the corn, and Hiram Strong discovered soft-soap on Pete's +clothes, and the smell of it strong upon his unwashed hands. + +“You get out of here,” Mr. Bronson told the boy. “I had occasion to put +you off my land once, and don't let me have to do it a third time,” + and he shoved him with no gentle hand through the door and down the +driveway. + +But Pete laid it all to Hiram. He called back over his shoulder: + + +“I'll be square with you, yet, Hi Strong! You wait!” + +But Hiram bad been threatened so often from that quarter by now, that he +was not much interested. + + + +CHAPTER XXX. ONE SNOWY MIDNIGHT + +The fun went on after that with more moderation, and everybody had a +pleasant time. That is, so supposed Hiram Strong until, in going out of +the barn again to get a breath of cool air after one of the dances, he +almost stumbled over a figure hiding in a corner, and crying. + +“Why, Sister!” he cried, taking the girl by the shoulders, and turning +her about. “What's the matter?” + +“Oh, I want to go home, Hi. This isn't any place for me. Let me--me +run--run home!” she sobbed. + +“I guess not! Who's bothered you? Has that Pete Dickerson come back?” + +“No!” sobbed Sister. + +“What is it, then?” + +“They--they don't want me here. They don't like me.” + +“Who don't?” demanded Hiram, sternly. + +“Those--those girls from St. Beris. I--I tried to dance, and I slipped +on some of that horrid soap and--and fell down. And they said I was +clumsy. And one said: + +“'Oh, all these country girls are like that. I don't see what Let wanted +them here for.' + +“'So't we could all show off better,' said another, laughing some more. + +“And I guess that's right enough,” finished Sister. “They don't want me +here. Only to make fun of. And I wish I hadn't come.” + +Hiram was smitten dumb for a moment. He had danced once with Lettie, but +the other town girls had given him no opportunity to do so. And it was +plain that Lettie's school friends preferred the few boys who had come +up from town to any of the farmers' sons who had come to the husking. + +“I guess you're right, Sister. They don't want us--much,” admitted +Hiram, slowly. + +“Then let's both go home,” said Sister, sadly. + +“No. That wouldn't be serving Mr. Bronson--or Lettie--right. We were +invited in good faith, I reckon, and the Bronsons haven't done anything +to offend us. + +“But you and I'll go back there and dance together. You dance with +me--or with Henry; and I'll stick to the country girls. If Lettie +Bronson's friends from boarding school think they are so much better +than us folks out here in the country, let us show them that we can have +a good time without them.” + +“Oh, I'll go back with you, Hiram,” cried Sister, gladly, and the young +fellow was a bit conscience-stricken as he noted her changed tone and +saw the sparkle that came into her eye. + +Had he neglected Sister because Lettie Bronson was about? Well! perhaps +he had. But he made up for it with the attention he paid to Sister +during the remainder of the evening. + +They went home early, however, and Hiram felt somewhat grave after the +corn husking. Had Lettie Bronson invited the country-bred young folk +living about her father's home, to meet her boarding school friends, +and the town boys, merely that the latter might be compared with the +farmer-folk to their disfavor? + +He could not believe that--really. Lettie Bronson might be thoughtless, +and a little proud; but she was still a princess to Hiram, and he could +not think this evil of her. + +But there were too many duties every day for the young farmer to give +much thought to such problems. Harvesting was not complete yet, and +soon flurries of snow began to drive across the fields and threaten the +approach of winter. + +Finally the wind came out of the northwest for more than a day, and +toward evening the flakes began to fall, faster and faster, thicker and +thicker. + +“It's going to be a snowy night--a real baby blizzard,” declared Hiram, +stamping his feet on the porch before coming into the warm kitchen with +the milkpail. + +“Oh, dear! And I thought you'd go over to Pollock's with me to-night, +Hi,” said Sister. + +“Mabel an' I are goin' to make our Christmas presents together, and +she's expecting me.” + +“Shucks! 'Twon't be fit for a girl to go out if it snows,” said Mother +Atterson. + +But Hiram saw that Sister was much disappointed, and he had tried to be +kinder to her since that night of the corn husking. + +“What's a little snow?” he demanded, laughing. “Bundle up good, Sister, +and I'll go over with you. I want to see Henry, anyway.” + +“Crazy young'uns,” observed Mother Atterson. But she made no real +objection. Whatever Hiram said was right, in the old lady's eyes. + +They tramped through the snowy fields with a lantern, and found it +half-knee deep in some drifts before they arrived at the Pollocks, short +as had been the duration of the fall. + +But they were welcomed vociferously at the neighbor's; preparations were +made for a long evening's fun; for with the snow coming down so steadily +there would be little work done out of doors the following day, so the +family need not seek their beds early. + +The Pollock children had made a good store of nuts, like the squirrels; +and there was plenty of corn to pop, and molasses for candy, or +corn-balls, and red apples to roast, and sweet cider from the casks in +the cellar. + +The older girls retired to a corner of the wide hearth with their +work-boxes, and Hiram and Henry worked out several problems regarding +the latter's eleven-week course at the agricultural college, which would +begin the following week; while the young ones played games until they +fell fast asleep in odd corners of the big kitchen. + +It was nearly midnight, indeed, when Hiram and Sister started home. And +it was still snowing, and snowing heavily. + +“We'll have to get all the plows out to-morrow morning!” Henry shouted +after them from the porch. + +And it was no easy matter to wade home through the heavy drifts. + +“I never could have done it without you, Hi,” declared the girl, when +she finally floundered onto the Atterson porch, panting and laughing. + +“I'll take a look around the barns before I come in,” remarked the +careful young farmer. + +This was a duty he never neglected, no matter how late he went to bed, +nor how tired he was. Half way to the barn he halted. A light was waving +wildly by the Dickerson back door. + +It was a lantern, and Hiram knew that it was being whirled around and +around somebody's head. He thought he heard, too, a shouting through the +falling snow. + +“Something's wrong over yonder,” thought the young farmer. + +He hesitated but for a moment. He had never stepped upon the Dickerson +place, nor spoken to Sam Dickerson since the trouble about the turkeys. +The lantern continued to swing. Eagerly as the snow came down, it could +not blind Hiram to the waving light. + +“I've got to see about this,” he muttered, and started as fast as he +could go through the drifts, across the fields. + +Soon he heard the voice shouting. It was Sam Dickerson. And he evidently +had been shouting to Hiram, seeing his lantern in the distance. + +“Help, Strong! Help!” he called. + +“What is it, man?” demanded Hiram, climbing the last pair of bars and +struggling through the drifts in the dooryard. + +“Will you take my horse and go for the doctor? I don't know where Pete +is--down to Cale Schell's, I expect.” + +“What's the matter, Mr. Dickerson?” + +“Sarah's fell down the bark stairs--fell backward. Struck her head an' +ain't spoke since. Will you go, Mr. Strong?” + +“Certainly. Which horse will I take?” + +“The bay's saddled-under the shed--get any doctor--I don't care which +one. But get him here.” + +“I will, Mr. Dickerson. Leave it to me,” promised Hiram, and ran to the +shed at once. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. “MR. DAMOCLES'S SWORD” + +Hiram Strong was not likely to forget that long and arduous night. It +was impossible to force the horse out of a walk, for the drifts were in +some places to the creature's girth. + +He stopped at the house for a minute and roused Mrs. Atterson and Old +Lem and sent them over to help the unhappy Dickersons. + +He was nearly an hour getting to the crossroads store. There were lights +and revelry there. Some of the lingering crowd were snowbound for the +night and were making merry with hard cider and provisions which Schell +was not loath to sell them. + +Pete was one of the number, and Hiram sent him home with the news of his +mother's serious hurt. + +He forced the horse to take him into town to Dr. Broderick. It was +nearly two o'clock when he routed out the doctor, and it was four +o'clock when the physician and himself, in a heavy sleigh and behind a +pair of mules, reached the Dickerson farmhouse. + +The woman had not returned to consciousness, and Mrs. Atterson remained +through the day to do what she could. But it was many a tedious week +before Mrs. Dickerson was on her feet again, and able to move about. + +Meanwhile, more than one kindly act had Mother Atterson done for the +neighbors who had seemed so careless of her rights. Pete never appeared +when either Mrs. Atterson or Sister came to the house; but in his sour, +gloomy way, Sam Dickerson seemed to be grateful. + +Hiram kept away, as there was nothing he could do to help them. And he +saw when Pete chanced to pass him, that the youth felt no more kindly +toward him than he had before. + +“Well, let him be as ugly as he wants to be--only let him keep away from +the place and let our things alone,” thought Hiram. “Goodness knows! I'm +not anxious to be counted among Pete Dickerson's particular friends.” + +Thanksgiving came on apace, and every one of the old boarders of +Mother Atterson had written that he would come to the farm to spend the +holiday. Even Mr. Peebles acknowledged the invitation with thanks, but +adding that he hoped Sister would not forget he must “eschew any viands +at all greasy, and that his hot water was to be at 101, exactly.” + +“The poor ninny!” ejaculated Mother Atterson. “He doesn't know what he +wants. Sister only poured it out of the teakettle, and he had to wait +for it to cool, anyway, before he could drink it.” + +But it was determined to give the city folk a good time, and this +determination was accomplished. Two of Sister's turkeys, bought and +paid for in hard cash by Mother Atterson, graced the long table in the +sitting-room. + +Many of the good things with which the table was laden came from the +farm. And, without Hiram and Sister, and Old Lem Camp, Mrs. Atterson +made even Fred Crackit understand, these good things had not been +possible! + +But the Crawberry folk, as a whole, were much subdued. They had missed +Mother Atterson dreadfully; and, really, they had felt some affection +for their old landlady, after all. + +After dinner Fred Crackit, in a speech that was designed to be humorous, +presented a massive silver plated water-pitcher with “Mother Atterson” + engraved upon it. And really, the old lady broke down at that. + +“Good Land o' Goshen!” she exclaimed. “Why, you boys do think something +of the old woman, after all, don't ye? + +“I must say that I got ye out here more than anything to show ye what we +could do in the country. 'Specially how it had improved Sister. And how +Hiram Strong warn't the ninny you seemed to think he was. And that Mr. +Camp only needed a chance to be something in the world again. + +“Well, well! It wasn't a generous feeling I had toward you, mebbe; but +I'm glad you come and--I hope you all had enough gravy.” + +So the occasion proved a very pleasant one indeed. And it made a happy +break in the hard work of preparing for the winter. + +The crops were all gathered ere this, and they could make up their books +for the season just passed. + +But there was wood to get in, for all along they had not had wood +enough, and to try and get wood out of the snowy forest in winter for +immediate use in the stoves was a task that Hiram did not enjoy. + +He had Henry to help him saw a goodly pile before the first snow fell; +and Mr. Camp split most of it and he and Sister piled it in the shed. + +“We've got to haul up enough logs by March--or earlier--to have a wood +sawing in earnest,” announced Hiram. “We must get a gasoline engine and +saw, and call on the neighbors for help, and have a sawing-bee.” + +“But what will be the use of that if we've got to leave here in +February?” demanded Mrs. Atterson, worriedly. “The last time I saw that +Pepper in town he grinned at me in a way that made me want to break my +old umbrel' over his dratted head!” + +“I don't care,” said Hiram, sullenly. “I don't want to sit idle all +winter. I'll cut the logs, anyway, and draw 'em out from time to time. +If we have to leave, why, we have to, that's all.” + +“And we can't tell a thing to do about next year till we know what +Pepper is going to do,” groaned Mrs. Atterson. + +“That is very true. But if he doesn't exercise his option before +February tenth, we needn't worry any more. And after that will be time +enough to make our plans for next season's crops,” declared Hiram, +trying to speak more cheerfully. + +But Mrs. Atterson went around with clouded brow again, and was heard to +whisper, more than once, something about “Mr. Damocles's sword.” + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. THE CLOUD IS LIFTED + +Despite Hiram Strong's warning to his employer when they started work +on the old Atterson Eighty, that she must expect no profit for this +season's, work, the Christmas-tide, when they settled their accounts for +the year, proved the young fellow to have been a bad prophet. + +“Why, Hiram, after I pay you this hundred dollars, I shall have a little +money left--I shall indeed. And all that corn in the crib--and stacks of +fodder, beside the barn loft full, and the roots, and the chickens, and +the pork, and the calf----” + +“Why, Hiram! I'm a richer woman to-day than when I came out here to the +farm, that's sure. How do you account for it?” + +Hiram had to admit that they had been favored beyond his expectations. + +“If that Pepper man would only come for'ard and say what he was going to +do!” sighed Mother Atterson. + +That was the continual complaint now. As the winter advanced all four +of the family bore the option in mind continually. There was talk of the +railroad going before the Legislature to ask for the condemnation of the +property it needed, in the spring. + +It seemed pretty well settled that the survey along the edge of the +Atterson Eighty would be the route selected. And, if that was the case, +why did Pepper not try to exercise his option? + +Mr. Strickland had said that there was no way by which the real estate +man's hand could be forced; so they had to abide Pepper's pleasure. + +“If we only knew we'd stay,” said Hiram, “I'd cut a few well grown pine +trees, while I am cutting the firewood, have them dragged to the mill, +and saw the boards we shall need if we go into the celery business this +coming season.” + +“What do you want boards for?” demanded Henry, who chanced to be home +over Christmas, and was at the house. + +“For bleaching. Saves time, room, and trouble. Banking celery, even with +a plow, is not alone old-fashioned, and cumbersome, but is apt to leave +the blanched celery much dirtier.” + +“But you'll need an awful lot of board for six acres, Hiram!” gasped +Henry. + +“I don't know. I shall run the trenches four feet apart, and you mustn't +suppose, Henry, that I shall blanch all six acres at once. The boards +can be used over and over again.” + +“I didn't think of that,” admitted his friend. + +Henry was eagerly interested in his selected studies at the experiment +station and college, and Abel Pollock followed his son's work there with +growing approval, too. + +“It does beat all,” he admitted to Hiram, “what that boy has learned +already about practical things. Book-farming ain't all flapdoodle, +that's sure!” + +So the year ended--quietly, peacefully, and with no little happiness +in the Atterson farmhouse, despite the cloud that overshadowed the +farm-title, and the doubts which faced them about the next season's +work. + +They sat up on New Year's eve to see the old year out and the new in, +and had a merry evening although there were only the family. When the +distant whistles blew at midnight they went out upon the back porch to +listen. + +It was a dark night, for thick clouds shrouded the stars. Only the +unbroken coverlet of snow (it had fallen that morning) aided them to see +about the empty fields. + +In the far distance was the twinkle of a single light--that in an upper +chamber of the Pollock house. Dickersons' was mantled in shadow, and +those two houses were the only ones in sight of the Atterson place. + +“And I was afraid when we came out here that I'd be dead of loneliness +in a month--with no near neighbors,” admitted Mother Atterson. “But I've +been so busy that I ain't never minded it---- + +“What's that light, Hiram?” + +Her cry was echoed by Sister. Behind the bam a sudden glow was spreading +against the low-hung clouds. It was too far away for one of their +out-buildings to be afire; but Hiram set off immediately, although he +only had slippers on, for the corner of the barnyard fence. + +When he reached this point he saw that one of the fodder stacks in the +cornfield was afire. The whole top of the stack was ablaze. + +“Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” cried Sister, who had followed him. “What can we +do?” + +“Nothing,”, said Hiram. “There's no wind, and it won't spread to another +stack. But that one is past redemption, for sure!” + +Hiram hastened back to the house and put on his boots. But he did not +wade through the snow to the fodder stack that was burning so briskly. +He merely made a detour around it, at some yards distant. Nowhere did he +see the mark of a footprint. + +How the stack had been set afire was a mystery. Hiram had stacked the +fodder himself, with the help of Sister, who had pitched the bundles up +to him. The young farmer did not smoke, and he seldom carried matches +loose in his pockets. + +Therefore, the idea that he had dropped a match in the fodder and a +field mouse, burrowing for some nubbin of corn, had come across the +match, nibbled the head, and so set the blaze, was scarcely feasible. + +Yet, how else had the fire started? + +When daylight came Hiram could find no footprint near the stack--only +his own where he had circled it while it was blazing. + +It was the stack nearest to the Dickerson line. Hiram, naturally, +thought of Pete. + +Since Mrs. Dickerson's sickness, Mother Atterson had been back and forth +to help her neighbor, and whenever Sam Dickerson saw Hiram he was as +friendly as it was in the nature of the man to be. + +Hiram could not believe that Pete's father would now countenance any +of his son's meannesses; yet when the young farmer went along the line +fence, he saw fresh tracks across the Dickerson fields, and discovered +where the person had stood, on the Dickerson side of the fence opposite +the burned fodder stack. + +But these footprints were all of three hundred feet from the stack, and +there was not a mark in the snow upon Hiram's side of the fence, saving +his own footprints. + +“Maybe somebody merely ran across to look at the blaze. But it's strange +I did not see him,” thought Hiram. + +He could not help being suspicious, however, and he prowled about the +stacks and the barns more than ever at night. He could not shake off the +feeling that the enemy in the dark was at work again. + +January passed, and the fatal day--the tenth of February--drew nearer +and nearer. If Pepper proposed to exercise his option he must do it on +or before that date. + +Neither Hiram nor Mrs. Atterson had seen the real estate man of late; +but they had seen Mr. Strickland, and on the final day they drove to +town to meet Pepper--if the man was going to show up--in the lawyer's +office. + +“I wouldn't trouble him, if I were you,” advised the lawyer. “But if you +insist, I'll send over for him.” + +“I want to know what he means by all this,” declared Mrs. Atterson, +angrily. “He's kept me on tenter-hooks for ten months, and there ought +to be some punishment for the crime.” + +“I am afraid he has been within his rights,” said the lawyer, smiling; +but he sent his clerk for the real estate man, probably being very well +convinced of the outcome of the affair. + +In came the snaky Mr. Pepper. The moment he saw Mrs. Atterson and Hiram +he began to cackle. + +“Ye don't mean to say you come clean in here this stormy day to try and +sell that farm to me?” asked the real estate man. “No, ma'am! Not for no +sixteen hundred dollars. If you'll take twelve----” + +Mrs. Atterson could not find words to reply to him; and Hiram felt like +seizing the scoundrel by the scruff of his neck and throwing him down to +the street. But it was Mr. Strickland who interposed: + +“So you do not propose to exercise your option?” + +“No, indeed-y!” + +“How long since did you give up the idea of purchasing the Atterson +place?” asked the lawyer, curiously. + +“Pshaw! I gave up the idee 'way back there last spring,” chuckled +Pepper. + +“You haven't the paper with you, have you, Mr. Pepper?” asked Mr. +Strickland, quietly. + +The real estate man looked wondrous sly and tapped the side of his nose +with a lean finger. + +“Why, I tore up that old paper long ago. It warn't no good to me,” said +Pepper. “I wouldn't take the farm at that price for a gift,” and he +departed with a sneering smile upon his lips. + +“And well he did destroy it,” declared Mr. Strickland. “It was a +forgery--that is what it was. And if we could have once got Pepper in +court with it, he would not have turned another scaly trick for some +years to come.” + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. “CELERY MAD” + +The relief to the minds of Hiram Strong and Mrs. Atterson was +tremendous. + +Especially was the young farmer inspired to greater effort. He saw the +second growing season before him. And he saw, too, that now, indeed, +he had that chance to prove his efficiency which he had desired all the +time. + +The past year had cost him little for clothing or other expenses. He had +banked the hundred dollars Mrs. Atterson had paid him at Christmas. + +But he looked forward to something much bigger than the other hundred +when the next Christmas-tide should come. Twenty-five per cent of all +the profit of the Atterson Eighty during this second year was to be his +own. + +The moment “Mr. Damocles's sword”, as Mother Atterson had called it, was +lifted the young farmer jumped into the work. + +He had already cut enough wood to last the family a year; now he got Mr. +Pollock, with his team of mules, to haul it up to the house, and then +sent for the power saw, asked the neighbors to help, and in less than +half a day every stick was cut to stove length. + +As he had time Hiram split this wood and Lem Camp piled it in the shed. +Hiram knocked together some extra cold-frames, too, and bought some +second-hand sash. + +And he had already dug a pit for a twelve-foot hotbed. Now, a +twelve-foot hotbed will start an enormous number of plants. + +Hiram did not plan to have quite so much small stuff in the garden this +year, however. He knew that he should have less time to work in the +garden. He proposed having more potatoes, about as many tomatoes as the +year before, but fewer roots to bunch, salads and the like. He must give +the bulk of his time to the big commercial crop that he hoped to put +into the bottom-land. + +He had little fear of the river overflowing its banks late enough in the +season to interfere with the celery crop. For the seedlings were to be +handled in the cold-frames and garden-patch until it was time to set +them in the trenches. And that would not be until July. + +He contented himself with having the logs he cut drawn to the sawmill +and the sawed planks brought down to the edge of the bottom-land, and +did not propose to put a plow into the land until late June. + +Meanwhile he started his celery seed in shallow boxes, and when the +plants were an inch and a half, or so, tall, he pricked them out, two +inches apart each way into the cold-frames. + +Sister and Mr. Camp could help in this work, and they soon filled the +cold-frames with celery plants destined to be reset in the garden plat +later. + +This “handling” of celery aids its growth and development in a most +wonderful manner. At the second transplanting, Hiram snipped back the +tops, and the roots as well, so that each plant would grow sturdily and +not be too “stalky”. + +Mrs. Atterson declared they were all celery mad. “Whatever will you do +with so much of the stuff, I haven't the least idee, Hiram. Can you sell +it all? Why, it looks to me as though you had set out enough already to +glut the Crawberry market.” + +“And I guess that's right,” returned Hiram. “Especially if I shipped it +all at once.” + +But he was aiming higher than the Crawberry market. He had been in +correspondence with firms that handled celery exclusively in some of the +big cities, and before ever he put the plow into the bottom-land he +had arranged for the marketing of every stalk he could grow on his six +acres. + +It was a truth that the family of transplanted boarding house people +worked harder this second spring than they had the first one. But they +knew how better, too, and the garden work did not seem so arduous to +Sister and Old Lem Camp. + +Mrs. Atterson had a fine flock of hens, and they had laid well after the +first of December, and the eggs had brought good prices. She planned to +increase her flock, build larger yards, and in time make a business of +poultry raising, as that would be something that she and Sister could +practically handle alone. + +Sister's turkeys had thrived so the year before that she had saved two +hens and a handsome gobbler, and determined to breed turkeys for the +fall market. + +And Sister learned a few things before she had raised “that raft +of poults,” as Mother Atterson called them. Turkeys are certainly +calculated to breed patience--especially if one expects to have a flock +of young Toms and hens fit for killing at Thanksgiving-time. + +She hatched the turkeys under motherly hens belonging to Mother +Atterson, striving to breed poults that would not trail so far from the +house; but as soon as the youngsters began to feel their wings they had +their foster-mothers pretty well worn out. One flock tolled the old hen +off at least a mile from the house and Hiram had some work enticing the +poults back again. + +There was no raid made upon her turkey coops this year, however. Pete +Dickerson was not much in evidence during the spring and early summer. +Mrs. Atterson went back and forth to the neighbors; but although +whenever Hiram saw the farmer the latter put forth an effort to be +pleasant to him, the two households did not well “mix”. + +Besides, during this busiest time of the year, when the crops were +getting started, there seemed to be little opportunity for social +intercourse. At least, so it seemed on the Atterson place. + +They were a busy and well contented crew, and everything seemed to be +running like clockwork, when suddenly “another dish of trouble”, as +Mother Atterson called it, was served them in a most unexpected manner. + +Hiram was coming up from the barn one evening, long after dark, and had +just caught sight of Sister standing on the porch waiting for him, when +a sudden glow against the dark sky, made him turn. + +The flash of fire passed on the instant, and Sister called to him: + +“Oh, Hiram! did you see that shooting-star?” + +“You never wished on it, Sis,” said the young farmer. + +“Oh, yes I did!” she returned, dancing down the steps to meet him. + +“That quick?” + +“Just that quick,” she reiterated, seizing his arm and getting into step +with him. + +“And what was the wish?” demanded Hiram. + +“Why--I won't ever get it if I tell you, will I?” she queried, shyly. + +“Just as likely to as not, Sister,” he said, with serious voice. “Wishes +are funny things, you know. Sometimes the very best ones never come +true.” + +“And I'm afraid mine will never come true,” she sighed. “Oh, dear! I +guess no amount of wishing will ever bring some things to pass.” + +“Maybe that's so, Sis,” he said, chuckling. “I fancy that getting out +and hustling for the thing you want is the best way to fulfill wishes.” + +“Oh, but I can't do that in this case,” said the girl, shaking her head, +and still speaking very seriously as they came to the porch steps. + +“Maybe I can bring it about for you,” teased Hiram. + +“I guess not,” she said. “I want so to be like other girls, Hiram! I'd +like to be like that pretty Lettie Bronson. I'm not jealous of her +looks and her clothes and her good times and all; no, that's not it,” + proclaimed Sister, with a little break in her voice. + +“But I'd like to know who I really be. I want folks, and--and I want to +have a real name of my own!” + +“Why, bless you!” exclaimed the young fellow, “'Sister' is a nice name, +I'm sure--and we all love it here.” + +“But it isn't a name. They call me Sissy Atterson at school. But it +doesn't belong to me. I--I've thought lots about choosing a name for +myself--a real fancy one, you know. There's lots of pretty, names,” she +said, reflectively. + +“Cords of 'em,” Hiram agreed. + +“But, you see, they wouldn't really be mine,” said the girl, earnestly. +“Not even after I had chosen them. I want my very own name! I want to +know who I am and all about myself. And”--with a half strangled sob--“I +guess wishing will never bring me that, will it, Hiram?” + +Never before had the young fellow heard Sister express herself upon this +topic. He had no idea that the girl felt her unknown and practically +unnamed existence so strongly. + +“I wouldn't care, Sis,” he said, patting her bent shoulders. “We love +you here just as well as we would if you had ten names! Don't forget +that. + +“And maybe it won't be all a mystery some day. Your folks may look you +up. They may come here and find you. And they'll be mighty proud of +you--you've grown so tall and good looking. Of course they will!” + +Sister listened to him and gave a little contented sigh. “And then they +might want to take me away--and I'd fight, tooth and nail, if they tried +it.” + +“What?” gasped Hiram. + +“Of course I would!” said the girl. “Do you suppose I'd give up Mother +Atterson for a dozen families--or for clothes--and houses--or, or +anything?” and she ran into the house leaving the young farmer in some +amazement. + +“Ain't that the girl of it?” he muttered, at last. “Yet I bet she is in +earnest about wanting to know about her folks.” + +And from that time Hiram thought more about Sister's problem himself +than he had before. Once, when he went to Crawberry, he went to the +charitable institution from which Mother Atterson had taken Sister. But +the matron had heard nothing of the lawyer who had once come to talk +over the child's affairs, and the path of inquiry seemed shut off right +there by an impassable barrier. + +However, this is ahead of our story. On this particular night Hiram +washed at the pump, and then followed Sister in to supper. + +Before they were half through Mr. Camp suddenly started from his chair +and pointed through the window. + +Flames were rising behind the barn again! + +“Another stack burning!” exclaimed Hiram, and be shot out of the door, +seizing a pail of water, hoping that he might put it out. + +But the stack was doomed. He knew it the moment he saw the extent of the +blaze. + +He kept away from it, as he had before; yet he did not expect to pick up +any trail of the incendiary near the stack. + +“Twice in the same place is too much!” declared the young farmer, +glowing with wrath. “I'm going to have this mystery explained, or know +the reason why.” + +He left Mr. Camp to watch the burning fodder, to see that sparks from +the stack did no harm, and lighting his lantern he went along the line +fence again. + +Yes! there were the footprints that he had expected to find. But the +burning stack was even farther from the fence than the first one +had been--and there were no marks of feet in the soft earth on Mrs. +Atterson's side of the boundary. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. CLEANING UP A PROFIT + +Hiram crawled through the wires, and followed the plain foot-marks back +to the Dickerson sheds. He lost them there, of course, but he knew by +the size of the footprints that either Sam Dickerson or his oldest son +had been over to the line fence. + +“And that shooting-star!” considered Hiram. “There was something peculiar +about that. I wonder if there wasn't a shooting star, also, away back +there at New Year's when our other stack of fodder was burned?” + +He loitered about the sheds for a few moments. It appeared as though all +the Dickersons were indoors. Nobody interfered with him. + +Of a sudden Hiram began to sniff an odor that seemed strange about a +cart-shed. At least, no wise farmer would have naphtha, or gasoline, in +his outbuildings, for it would make his insurance invalid. + +But that was the smell Hiram discovered. And he was not long in finding +the cause of it. + +Back in a dark corner, upon a beam, lay a big sling-shot--one of those +that boys swing around their heads with a stone in the heel of it, and +then let go one end to shoot the missile to a distance. + +The leather loop was saturated with the gasoline, and it had been +scorched, too. The smell of burning, as well as the smell of gasoline, +was very distinct. + +Hiram took the sling-shot with him, and went up to the Dickerson house. + +He had got along so well with the Dickersons for these past months +that he honestly shrank from “starting anything” now. Yet he could not +overlook this flagrant piece of malicious mischief. Indeed, it was more +than that. Two stacks had already been burned, and it might be some of +the outbuildings--or even Mrs. Atterson's house--next time! + +Besides, Hiram felt himself responsible for his employer's property. The +old lady could not afford to lose the fodder, and Hiram was determined +that both of the burned stacks should be paid for in full. + +He looked through the window of the Dickerson kitchen. The family was +around the supper table-Mr. and Mrs. Dickerson, Pete, and the children, +little and big. It was a cheerful family group, after all. Rough and +uncouth as the farmer was, Dickerson likely had his feelings like other +people. Instead of bursting right in at the door as had been Hiram's +intention, and accusing Pete to his face, the indignant young fellow +hesitated. + +He hadn't any sympathy for Pete, not the slightest. If he gave him--or +the elder Dickerson--a chance to clear up matters by making good to Mrs. +Atterson for what she had lost, Hiram Strong decided that he was being +very lenient indeed. + +He stepped quietly onto the porch and rapped on the door. Then he backed +off and waited for some response from within. + +“Hullo, Mr. Strong!” exclaimed the farmer, coming himself to the “door. +Why! is that your stack burning?” + +“Yes, sir,” said Hiram, quietly. + +“Another one!” + +“That is the second,” admitted Hiram. “But I don't propose that another +shall be set afire in just the same way.” + +Sam Dickerson stepped suddenly down to the young farmer's level, and +asked: + +“What do you mean by that? Do you know how it got afire?” + +Hiram held out the sling-shot in the light of his lantern. + +“A rag, saturated with gasoline, was wrapped around a pebble, then set +afire, and stone and blazing rag were shot from our line fence into the +fodderstack. + +“I found the footprints of the incendiary on New Year's morning at the +same place. And I'll wager a good deal that your son Pete's boots will +fit the footprints over there at the line now!” + +Sam Dickerson's face had turned exceedingly red, and then paled. But he +spoke very quietly. + +“What are you going to do with him, Mr. Strong?” he asked. “It will be +five years for him at least, if you take it to court--and maybe longer.” + +“I don't believe, Mr. Dickerson, that you have upheld Pete in all the +mean tricks he has played on me.” + +“Indeed I haven't! And since I got a look at myself--back there when the +wife was hurt----” + +Sam Dickerson's voice broke and he turned away for a moment so that his +visitor should not see his face. + +“Well!” he continued. “You've got Pete right this time--no doubt of +that. I dunno what makes him such a mean whelp. I'll lambaste him good +for this, now I tell you. But the stacks----” + +“Make him pay for them out of his own money. Mrs. Atterson ought not to +lose the stacks,” said Hiram, slowly. + +“Oh, he'll do that, anyway, you can bet!” exclaimed Dickerson, with +conviction. + +“I don't believe that sending a boy like him to jail will either improve +his morals, or do anybody else any good,” observed Hiram, reflectively. + +“And it'll jest about finish his mother,” spoke Sam. + +“That's right, too,” said the young farmer. “I tell you. I don't want +to see him--not just now. But you do what you think is best about this +matter, and make Peter pay the bill--ten dollars for the two stacks of +fodder.” + +“He shall do it, Mr. Strong,” declared Sam Dickerson, warmly. “And he +shall beg your pardon, too, or I'll larrup him until he can't stand. +He's too big for a lickin', but he ain't too big for me to lick!” + +And the elder Dickerson was as good as his word. An hour later yells +from the cart shed denoted that Pete was finally getting what he should +have received when he was a younger boy. + +Before noon Sam marched the youth over to Mrs. Atterson. Pete was very +puffy about the eyes, and his cheeks were streaked with tears. Nor did +he seem to care to more than sit upon the extreme edge of a chair. + +But he paid Mrs. Atterson ten dollars, and then, nudged by his father, +turned to Hiram and begged the young farmer's pardon. + +“That's all right, etc.,” said Hiram, laying his hand upon the boy's +shoulder. “Just because we haven't got on well together heretofore, +needn't make any difference between us after this. + +“Come over and see me. If you have time this summer and want the work, +I'll be glad to hire you to help handle my celery crop. + +“Neighbors ought to be neighborly; and it won't do either of us any good +to hug to ourselves any injury which we fancy the other has done. We'll +be friends if you say so, Peter--though I tell you right now that if you +turn another mean trick against me, I'll take the law into my own hands +and give you worse than you've got already.” + +Pete looked sheepish enough, and shook hands. He knew very well that +Hiram could do as he promised. + +But from that time on the young farmer had no further trouble with him. + +Meanwhile Hiram's crops on the Atterson Eighty grew almost as well this +second season as they had the first. There was a bad drouth this year, +and the upland corn did not do so well; yet the young farmer's corn crop +compared well with the crops in the neighborhood. + +He had put in but eight acres of corn this year; but they had plenty of +old corn in the crib when it came time to take down this second season's +crop. + +It was upon the celery that Hiram bent all his energies. He had to pay +out considerable for help, but that was no more than he expected. Celery +takes a deal of handling. + +When the long, hot, dry days came, when the uplands parched and the +earth fairly seemed to radiate the heat, the acres of tender plants +which Hiram and his helpers had just set out in the trenches began to +wilt most discouragingly. + +Henry Pollock, who did all he could to aid Hiram on the crop, shook his +head in despair. + +“It's a-layin' down on you, Hiram--it's a-layin' down on you. Another +day like this and your celery crop will be pretty small pertaters!” + +“And that would be a transformation worthy of the attention of all +the agricultural schools, Henry,” returned the young farmer, grimly +laughing. + +“You got a heart--to laugh at your own loss,” said Henry. + +“There isn't any loss--yet,” declared Hiram. + +“But there's bound to be,” said his friend, a regular “Job's comforter” + for the nonce. + +“Look here, Henry; you'd have me give up too easy. 'Never say die!' +That's the farmer's motto.” + +“Jinks!” exclaimed young Pollock, “they're dying all around us just the +same--and their crops, too. We ain't going to have half a corn crop if +this spell of dry weather keeps on. And the papers don't give us a sign +of hope.” + +“When there doesn't seem to be a sign of hope is when the really +up-to-date farmer begins to actually work,” chuckled Hiram. + +“And just tell me what you're going to do for this field of wilted +celery?” demanded Henry. + +“Come on up to the house and I'll get Mother Atterson to give us an +early supper,” quoth Hiram. “I'm going to town and I invite you to go +with me.” + +Henry had got used by this time to Hiram's little mysteries. But this +seemed to him a case where man had done all that could be done for the +crop, and without Providential interposition, “the whole field would +have to go to pot”, as he expressed it. + +And in his heart the young farmer knew that the outlook for a paying +crop of celery right then was very small indeed. He had done his best +in preparing the soil, in enriching it, in raising the sets and +transplanting them--up to this point he had brought his big commercial +crop, at considerable expense. If the drouth really “got” it, he would +have, at the most, but a poor and stunted crop to ship in the Fall. + +But Hiram Strong was not the fellow to throw up his hands and own +himself beaten at such a time as this. Here was an obstacle that must +be overcome. The harder the problem looked the more determined he was to +solve it. + +The two boys drove to town that evening and Hiram sought out a man who +contracted to move houses, clean cisterns and wells, and various work +of that kind. He knew this man had just the thing he needed, and after +a conference with him, Hiram loaded some bulky paraphernalia into the +light wagon--it was so dark Henry could not see what it was--and they +drove home again. + +“I'd like to know what the Jim Hickey you're about, Hiram,” sniffed +Henry, in disgust. “What's all this litter back here in the wagon?” + +“You come over and give me a hand in the morning--early now, say by +sun-up--and you'll find out. I want a couple of husky chaps like you,” + chuckled Hiram. “I'll get Pete Dickerson to work against me.” + +“If you do, you tell Pete he'll have to work lively,” said Henry, with +a grin. “I don't know what it is you want us to do, but I reckon I can +keep my end up with Pete, from hoein' 'taters to cuttin' cord-wood.” + +“You can keep your end up with him, can you?” chuckled Hiram. “Well! I +bet you can't in this game I'm going to put you two fellows up against.” + +“What! Pete Dickerson beat me at anything--unless it's sleeping?” + grunted Henry, with vast disgust. “I'll keep my end up with him at +anything.” + +And the more assured he was of this the more Hiram was amused. “Come +on over early, Henry,” said the young farmer, “and I'll show you that +there's at least one thing in which you can't keep your end up with +Pete.” + +His friend was almost angry when he started off across the fields for +home; but he was mighty curious, too. That curiosity, if nothing +more, would have brought him to the Atterson house in good season the +following morning. + +Already, however, Hiram and Pete--with the light wagon--had gone down +to the riverside. Henry hurried after them and reached the celery field +just as the red face of the sun appeared. + +There had been little dew during the night and the tender transplants +had scarcely lifted their heads. Indeed, the last acre set out the day +before were flat. + +On the bank of the river, and near that suffering acre, were Hiram and +Pete Dickerson. Henry hurried to them, wondering at the thing he saw +upon the bank. + +Hiram was already laying out between the celery rows a long hosepipe. +This was attached to a good-sized force-pump, the feedpipe of which was +in the river. It was a two-man pump and was worked by an up-and-down +“brake.” + +“Catch hold here, Henry,” laughed Hiram. “One of you on each side now, +and pump for all you're worth. And see if I'm not right, my boy. You +can't keep your end up with Pete at this job; for if you do, the water +won't flow!” + +Henry admitted that he had, been badly sold by the joke; but he was +enthusiastic in his praise of Hiram's ingenuity, too. + +“Aw, say!” said the young farmer, “what do you suppose the Good Lord +gave us brains for? Just so as to keep our fingers out of the fire? No, +sir! With all this perfectly good and wet water running past my field, +could I have the heart to let this celery die? I guess not!” + +He had a fine spray nozzle on the pipe and the pipe itself was long +enough so that, by moving the pump occasionally, he could water every +square foot of the big piece. And the three young fellows, by changing +about, went over the field every other day in about four hours without +difficulty. + +By and by the celery plants got rooted well; they no longer drooped in +the morning; before the drouth was past the young farmer had as handsome +a field of celery as one would wish. Indeed, when he began to ship the +crop, even his earliest crates were rated A-1 by the produce men, and he +bad no difficulty in selling the entire crop at the top of the market, +right through the season. + +The garden paid a profit; the potatoes did even better than the year +before, and Hiram harvested and sold seventy-five dollars' worth while +the price for new potatoes was high. + +He shipped most of his tomatoes this year, for he could not pay +attention to the local market as he had the first season; but the tomato +crop was a good one. + +They raised to eight weeks and sold, during the year, five pair of +shoats, and Mrs. Atterson bought a grade cow with her calf by her side, +for a hundred dollars, and made ten pounds of butter a week right +through the season. + +Old Lem Camp, looking ten years younger than when he came to the farm, +muscular and brown, did all the work about the barns now, milked the +cows, and relieved Hiram of all the chores. + +Indeed, with some little help about the plowing and cultivating, Hiram +knew very well that Mrs. Atterson and Old Lem could run the farm another +year without his help. + +Of course, the old lady could not expect to put in any crop that would +pay her like the celery; for when they footed up their books, the +bottom-land had yielded, as Hiram had once prophesied to Mr. Bronson +over four hundred dollars the acre, net. + +Twenty-four hundred dollars income from six acres; and the profit was +more than fifty per cent. Indeed, Hiram's share of the profit amounted +to three hundred and seventy dollars. + +With his hundred dollar wage, and the money he had saved the previous +season, when the crops were harvested this second season, the young +farmer's bank book showed a balance of over five hundred dollars to his +credit. + +“I'm eighteen years old and over,” soliloquized the young farmer. “And +I've got a capital of five hundred dollars. Can't I turn that capital +some way go as to give me a bigger--a broader--chance? + +“Thus far I've been a one-horse farmer; I want to be something better +than that. Now, there's no use in my hanging around here, waiting for +something to turn up. I must get a move on me and turn something up for +myself.” + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. LOOKING AHEAD + +During this year Hiram had not seen much of Mr. Bronson, or Lettie. They +had gone back to the West over the summer vacation, and when Lettie +had returned for her last year at St. Beris, her father had not come on +until near Thanksgiving. + +Hiram had spoken with Lettie several times during the fail, and he +thought that she had vastly improved in one way, at least. + +She could not be any prettier, it seemed to him; but her manner was more +cordial, and she always asked after Sister and Mrs. Atterson, and showed +that her interest in him was not a mere surface interest. + +One day, when Hiram had been shipping some of the last of his celery, +Lettie met him on the street near the Scoville railroad station. Hiram +was in his high boots, and overalls; and Lettie was with two of her girl +friends. + +But the girl stopped him and shook hands, and told him that her father +had arrived and wanted to see him. + +“We want you to come to dinner Saturday evening, Hiram. Father insists, +and I shall be very much disappointed if you do not come.” + +“Why, that's very kind of you, Miss Lettie,” responded the young farmer, +slowly, trying to find some good reason for refusing the invitation. He +was determined not to be patronized. + +“Now, Hiram! This is very important. We want you to meet somebody,” said +Lettie, her eyes dancing. “Somebody very particular. Now! do say you'll +come like a good boy, and not keep me teasing.” + +“Well, I'll come, Miss Lettie,” he finally agreed, and she gave him a +most charming smile. + +Lettie's two friends had waited for her, very much amused. + +“I declare, Let!” cried one of them--and her voice reached Hiram's ears +quite plainly. “You do have the queerest friends. Why did you stop to +speak to that yokel?” + +“Hush! he'll hear you,” said Miss Bronson; yet she smiled, too. “So you +think Hiram is a yokel, do you?” + +“Hiram!” repeated her friend. “Goodness me! I should think the name was +enough. And those boots--and overalls!” + +“Well,” said Lettie, still amused, “I've seen my own father in just such +a costume. And you know very well that he is a pretty good looking man, +dressed up.” + +“But Let! your father's never a farmer$” gasped the other girl. + +“Why not?” + +“Oh, she's just joking us,” laughed the third girl. “Of course he's a +farmer--he owns half a dozen farms. But he's the kind of a farmer who +rides around in his automobile and looks over his crops.” + +“Well, and this young man may do that--in time,” said Lettie. “At least, +my father believes Hi is aimed that way.” + +“Nonsense!” + +“He doesn't look as though he had a cent,” said the third girl. + +“He is putting away more money of his very own in the bank than any boy +we know, who works. Father says so,” declared Lettie. “He says Hi has +done wonderfully well with his crops this year--and he is only raising +them on shares. + +“Let me tell you, girls, the farmer is coming into his own, these +days. That is a great saying of father's. He believes that the man +who produces the food-stuffs for the rest of the world should have a +satisfactory share of the proceeds of their sale. And that is coming, +father says. + +“Farmers don't have to half starve, and be burdened by mortgages and +ignorance, any longer. The country sections are waking up. With good +schools and good roads, and the grange, and all, many rural districts +are already ahead of the cities in the things worth while.” + +“Listen to Let lecture!” sniffed one of her friends. + +“All right. You wait. Maybe you'll see that same young fellow--Hi +Strong--come through this town in his own auto before you graduate from +St. Beris.” + +“Pshaw!” exclaimed the other. “If I do I'll ask him for a ride,” and the +discussion ended in a laugh. + +Perhaps, however, had Hiram heard all Lettie had said he would not have +been so doubtful in regard to fulfilling his promise about taking dinner +with Mr. Bronson and his daughter on Saturday evening. + +To tell the truth, the more he thought of it, the more he shrank from +the ordeal. Once he had hoped Mr. Bronson would be the one to show him +the way out of the backwater of Crawberry. Hiram had not forgotten how +terribly disappointed he had been when he could not find the gentleman's +card in the sewer excavation. + +And later, when Mr. Bronson had suggested that he leave Mrs. Atterson +and come to him to work, Hiram feared that he had missed an opportunity +that would never be offered him again. His contract was practically +over with his present employer, and Hiram's ambition urged him to desire +greater things in the farming line. + +It might be in Mr. Bronson's power to aid the young farmer right along +this line. The gentleman owned farms in the Middle West that were being +tilled on up-to-date methods, and by modern machinery. Hiram desired +very strongly to get upon a place of that character. He wished to learn +how to handle tools and machinery which it would never pay a “one-horse +farmer” to own. But how deeply had the gentleman been offended +by Hiram's refusal to come to work for him when he gave him that +opportunity? That was a question that bit deep into the young farmer's +mind. + +When he went to the Bronson's house on Saturday, in good season, Mr. +Bronson met him cordially, in the library. + +“Well, my boy, they all tell me you have done it!” exclaimed the +Westerner. + +“Done what?” queried Hiram. + +“Made the most money per acre for Mrs. Atterson that this county ever +saw. Is that right?” + +“I've succeeded in what I set out to do,” said Hiram, modestly. + +“And I did not believe myself that you could do it,” declared the +gentleman. “And it's too bad, too, that I was a Doubting Thomas,” added +Mr. Bronson, his eyes beginning to dance a good deal like Lettie's. + +“You see, Hiram, I had it in my mind when I took this place to get a +young men from around here and teach him something of my ways of work, +and finally take him back West with me. + +“I have several farms that are paying me good incomes; but good +farm-managers are hard to get. I wanted to train one--a young man. I +ran against a promising lad before you came to the Atterson place; but I +lost track of him. + +“Had you been willing to leave Mrs. Atterson and come to me,” continued +Mr. Bronson, “I believe I could have licked you into shape last season +so that you would have suited me very well,” and he laughed outright. + +“But now I want you to meet my future farm-manager. He is the very +fellow I wanted before I offered the chance to you. I reckon you'll be +glad to see him----” + +While he was talking, Mr. Bronson had put his hand on Hiram's shoulder, +and urged him down the length of the room. They had come to a heavy +portiere; Hiram thought it masked a doorway. + +“Here is the fellow himself,” exclaimed Bronson suddenly. + +The curtain was whisked away. Hiram heard Lettie giggling somewhere +in the folds of it. And he found himself staring straight into a long +mirror which reflected both himself and the laughing Mr. Bronson. + +“Hiram Strong!” spoke the Westerner, admonishingly, “why didn't you tell +me long ago that you were the lad who turned my horses out of the ditch +that evening back in Crawberry?” + +“Why--why----” + +“His fatal modesty,” laughed Lettie, appearing and clapping her hands. + +“I guess it wasn't that,” said Hiram, slowly. “What was the use? I would +have been glad of your assistance at the time; but when I found you I +had already made a contract with Mrs. Atterson, and--what was the use?” + +“Well, perhaps it would have made no difference. When I had dug up the +fact that you were the same fellow whom I had looked for at Dwight's +Emporium, it struck me that possibly the character that old scoundrel +gave you had some basis in fact. + +“So I said nothing to you after you had refused to break your contract. +That, Hiram, was a good point in your favor. And what that little girl +at your house has told Lettie about you--and the way Mrs. Atterson +speaks of you, and all--long since convinced me that you were just the +lad I wanted. + +“Now, Hiram, I believe you know a good deal about farming that I don't +know myself. And, at any rate, if you can do what you have done with a +run-down place like the Atterson Eighty, I'd like to see what you can do +with a bigger and better farm. + +“What do you say? Will you come to me--if only for a year? I'll make it +worth your while.” + +And that Hiram Strong did not let this opportunity slip past him will be +shown in the next volume of this series, entitled: “Hiram in the Middle +West; Or, A Young Farmer's Upward Struggle.” + +He was sorry to leave Mrs. Atterson at Christmas time; but the old lady +saw that it was to Hiram's advantage to go. + +“And good land o' Goshen, Hiram! I wouldn't stand in no boy's way--not +a boy like you, leastways. You've always been square with me, and you've +given me a new lease of life. For I never would have dared to give up +the boarding house and come to the farm if it hadn't been for you. + +“This is your home--jest as much as it is Sister's home, and Old Lem +Camp's. Don't forgit that, Hiram. + +“You'll find us all here whenever you want to come back to it. For I've +talked with Mr. Strickland and I'm going to adopt Sister, all reg'lar, +and she shall have what I leave when I die, only promising to give Mr. +Camp a shelter, if he should outlast me. + +“Sister's folks may never look her up, and she may never git that money +the institution folk think is coming to her. But she'll be well fixed +here, that's sure.” + +Indeed, taking it all around, everybody of importance to the story +seemed to be “well fixed”, as Mother Atterson expressed it. She herself +need never be disturbed by the vagaries of boarders, or troubled in her +mind, either waking or sleeping, about the gravy--save on Thanksgiving +Day. + +Old Lem Camp and Sister were provided for by their own exertions and +Mrs. Atterson's kindness. The Dickersons--even Pete--had become friendly +neighbors. Henry Pollock had waked up his father, and they were running +the Pollock farm on much more modern lines than before. + +And Hiram himself was looking ahead to a scheme of life that suited him, +and to a chance “to make good” on a much larger scale than he had on the +Atterson Eighty where, nevertheless, he had made the soil pay. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Hiram The Young Farmer, by Burbank L. 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