"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 onthe 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 tohave 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 onPete'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.
