a moment to make sure that he had nothing more to say, the
lad slipped away, triumphantly bearing with him the coveted morsel of
yellow pasteboard. That its import was noncommittal and even contained
a tang of skepticism troubled him not a whit. The chief thing was that
he had wrested from the manager an opportunity, no matter how
grudgingly accorded, to show what he was worth. He could farm and he
knew it and he had no doubt that he could demonstrate the fact to any
boss he might encounter.

Therefore with high courage he was promptly on hand the next morning
and even before the time assigned he approached Stevens, the
superintendent.

"What do you want, youngster?" demanded the man sharply. He was in a
hurry and it was obvious that something had nettled him and that he was
in no humor to be delayed.

"I came to help with the haying."

"We don't want any boys as young as you," Stevens returned, moving
away.

"I've a card from Mr. Wharton."

"A card, eh? Why didn't you say so in the first place? Shell it out."

Shyly Ted produced his magic fragment of paper which the overseer read
with disapproval in his glance.

"Well, since Wharton wants you tried out, you can pitch in with the
crowd," grumbled he. "But I still think you're too young. I've had boys
your age before and never found them any earthly use. However, you
won't be here long if you're not--that's one thing. You'll find a
pitchfork in the barn. Follow along behind the men who are mowing and
spread the grass out."

"I know."

"Oh, you do, do you! Trust people your size for knowing everything."

To the final remark the lad vouchsafed no reply. Instead he moved away
and soon returned, fork in hand. What a flood of old memories came
surging back with the touch of the implement! Again he was in Vermont
in the stretch of mowings that fronted the old white house where he was
born. The scent of the hay in his nostrils stirred him like an elixir,
and with a thrill of pleasure he set to work. He had not anticipated
toiling out there in the hot sunshine at a task which he had always
disliked; but to-day, by a strange miracle, it did not seem to be a
task so much as a privilege.

How familiar the scene was! As he approached the group of older men it
took him only a second to see where he was needed and he thrust his
pitchfork into the swath at his feet with a swing of easy grace.

"Guess you've done this job before," called a man behind him after he
had w