ade her off 'sight unseen' if he
ever gits rid of her. Ye see, we never _do_ raise feed enough, an' she
certainly come through the winter in bad shape; an' our paster fence is
down in places so we can't let her get the grass."

"Why, the poor creature!" murmured Janice. "Why don't you mend the
fence, Marty, so the cow can feed in the pasture?"

"Me? Huh! I guess not," snarled Marty, starting down the potato row
again. "Let the old man do it."

It was not long after this that Marty got tired of hoeing and threw
down the implement altogether, to seek the shadow of the cherry tree in
the fence corner.

"Why don't ye quit?" he asked Janice. "You're getting all hot and
mucky. And for what? Them things will only have ter be weeded again."

Janice laughed. "I'll keep them clean as far as I can go. I won't let
a lot of old weeds beat _me_."

"Huh! what's the odds?"

"Why, Marty!" she cried. "Don't you like to see 'a good task well
done?'"

"Ya-as,--by somebody else," grinned that young hopeful. "Come on an'
sit down, Janice."

"Haven't got time," laughed his cousin

"Pshaw! 'Time was made for slaves'--that's what Walky Dexter says.
Say! let's go up to see the Shower Bath."

"How about the potatoes?"

"Shucks! I've done a good stint, ain't I? Dad can't expect me to work
all the time. An' I bet he ain't doin' a livin' thing himself but
settin' down talkin' somewhere."

Janice, though shaking her head silently, thought this was more than
likely to be true. And Marty would not leave her in peace; so she was
willing to desert the carrot patch. But she had cleaned up quite a
piece of the bed and was proud of it.

Marty sauntered along by her side as they passed through the barnyard
and paddock. It was plain that what Marty had said about currying the
horses was quite true. The beasts' winter coats still clung to them in
rags. And the poor cow!

A couple of lean shoats squealed in a pen.

"What makes them so noisy, Marty?" asked his cousin.

"I guess they're thirsty. Always squealin' about sumthin'--hogs is.
More nuisance than they're worth."

"But--I s'pose if _you_ wanted water, you'd squeal?" suggested Janice.

"Huh! smart, ain't ye?" growled Marty. "I'd go down ter Dickerson's
an' git a drink. So'll them shoats if Dad don't mend that pen pretty
soon."

It was no use to suggest that Marty might make the needed repairs; so
Janice made no further comment. The trail of shiftlessness