aid to be willing and
obliging."

Richard grinned and Warren's gray eyes smiled.

"Well, I hope you'll tumble up early in the morning," observed the
farmer, his mind busy already with the next day's work. "We're going
to start picking tomatoes for the cannery."

There wasn't much thrill about the persistent ringing of the alarm
clock the next morning and Jack turned over with a groan. The dial
said five o'clock, though he was sure he had not been asleep longer
than two hours.

"Morning," was Mr. Hildreth's brief greeting when he met his new hand
at the back door. "Glad to see you made it. Warren's your boss--he
knows what has to be done. You'll find him out in the barn, milking."

Even a careless observer--and Jack was not that--would have been struck
with the dewy freshness of the grass and shrubbery and the magnificent
splendor of the Eastern sky; and Jack, on his way to the barn, drew a
deep breath of something like contentment.

"Not so bad," he thought, beginning to whistle. "Not so bad, after
all."

Warren glanced up from his milking, his eyes cordial, his busy hands
continuing their task.

"Mr. Hildreth said you're my boss," said Jack directly. "What do you
want me to do?"

"You can't milk, can you?" replied Warren. "No, of course, you haven't
been around cows. Richard is feeding and cleaning the horses--you
might help him."

Jack was inclined to remember the remark Sarah had attributed to
Richard, but five minutes spent in that cheerful youth's company were
enough to dispel any faint resentment he might feel. Richard liked to
chatter and he liked to sing and whistle; and while he showed Jack what
constituted a proper breakfast for a horse and how these useful beasts
should be groomed, he kept up a running fire of comment and
good-natured musical effort that made up in volume what it lacked in
depth. By the time Warren's pails were full and the barn work done,
the three boys were on a friendly footing and they marched into
breakfast to the tune of "There Were Three Crows Sat in a Tree."

Jack could have found it in his heart to wish that Mrs. Hildreth might
think less of time and more of passing comfort. The dining-room of the
bungalow was fully furnished, but the farmer's wife used it only on
state occasions. It made less work, she said, to eat in the kitchen
and she could "get through" a meal more rapidly and take fewer steps
when those to be served were close to the stove.

It fel