of the fork and fling it on
to the cart as if it were a feather. Lawyer Wilson always took a hand
himself if signs of rain appeared, and Mark occasionally visited the
scene of action when a crowd in the field made a general jollification,
or when there was an impending thunderstorm. In such cases even women
and girls joined the workers and all hands bent together to the task of
getting a load into the barn and covering the rest.

Deacon Baxter was wont to call Mark Wilson a "worthless, whey-faced,
lily-handed whelp," but the description, though picturesque, was
decidedly exaggerated. Mark disliked manual labor, but having imbibed
enough knowledge of law in his father's office to be an excellent clerk,
he much preferred travelling about, settling the details of small cases,
collecting rents and bad bills, to any form of work on a farm. This sort
of life, on stage-coaches and railway trains, or on long driving trips
with his own fast trotter, suited his adventurous disposition and gave
him a sense of importance that was very necessary to his peace of mind.
He was not especially intimate with Ivory Boynton, who studied law with
his father during all vacations and in every available hour of leisure
during term time, as did many another young New England schoolmaster.
Mark's father's praise of Ivory's legal ability was a little too warm
to please his son, as was the commendation of one of the County Court
judges on Ivory's preparation of a brief in a certain case in the Wilson
office. Ivory had drawn it up at Mr. Wilson's request, merely to show
how far he understood the books and cases he was studying, and he had no
idea that it differed in any way from the work of any other student; all
the same, Mark's own efforts in a like direction had never received any
special mention. When he was in the hay-field he also kept as far as
possible from Ivory, because there, too, he felt a superiority that
made him, for the moment, a trifle discontented. It was no particular
pleasure for him to see Ivory plunge his fork deep into the heart of a
hay-cock, take a firm grasp of the handle, thrust forward his foot to
steady himself, and then raise the great fragrant heap slowly, and swing
it up to the waiting haycart amid the applause of the crowd. Rodman
would be there, too, helping the man on top of the load and getting
nearly buried each time, as the mass descended upon him, but doing his
slender best to distribute and tread it down proper