arge piece of land which at present was more
bane than benefit; we should bring the county road past our door; we
should more than double our supply of water for irrigation purposes--a
fact which, by itself, would be of immense advantage to us.

At present we had no more than enough water--sometimes hardly enough--to
irrigate our crops, but by doubling the supply we could bring into use
another hundred acres or more. On either side of our present cultivated
area, and only three feet above it, spread the first of the old
lake-benches, a fine, level tract of land, capable of growing any crop,
but which, for lack of water, we had hitherto utilized only as a dry
pasture for our stock. By a test we had once made of a little patch of
it, we had found that it was well adapted to the cultivation of wheat;
and as I lay there thinking--Joe having by this time departed to the
land of dreams--I pictured in my mind the whole area converted into one
flourishing wheat-field; I built a castle in the air in the shape of a
flour-mill which I ran by power derived from our waterfall; and with a
two-ton load of flour I was in imagination driving down to San Remo over
the splendid road which traversed the now solid "forty rods," when a
light shining in my face disturbed me.

It was the sun pouring in at our east window!

Half-past seven! And we still in bed! Such a thing had not happened to
me since that time when, a rebellious infant, I had been kept in bed
perforce with a light attack of the measles.

Needless to say, we were up and dressed in next to no time, when, on
descending to the kitchen, we found another surprise in store for us.
Peter was gone! He must have been gone some hours, too, for the fire in
the range had burned out. He had not deserted us, however, for on the
table was a bit of paper upon which he had written, "Back pretty soon.
Wait for me"--a behest we duly obeyed, not knowing what else to do.

About an hour later I heard the trampling of horses outside the front
door, and going out, there I saw Peter stiffly descending from the back
of our gray pony; while beside him, with a broad grin on his jolly face,
stood Tom Connor.

"Why, Tom!" I cried. "What brings you here?"

Tom laughed. "Didn't expect to see me, eh, Phil," said he. "It's Peter's
doing. While you two lazy young rascals were snoring away in bed, he
started out at four-thirty this morning and rode all the way up to my
camp to borrow my tools for you. And