nother job. I wonder if Mr. Bronson would take me on now?"

But he knew that the Westerner already had a man who suited him, since
Hiram had refused the chance Bronson offered. And, then, Lettie had
shown that she felt he had not appreciated their offer. Perhaps her
father felt the same way.

Besides, Hiram had a secret wish not to put himself under obligation
to the Bronsons. This feeling may have sprung from a foolish source;
nevertheless it was strong with the young farmer.

It looked very much to him as though this sudden turn of circumstances
was "a facer". If Mrs. Atterson had to sell the farm he was likely to be
thrown on his own resources again.

For his own selfish sake Hiram was worried, too. After all, he would
be unable to "make good" and to show people that he could make the old,
run-down farm pay a profit to its owner.

But Hiram Strong couldn't believe it.

The more he milled over the thing in his mind, the less he understood
why Uncle Jeptha, who was of acute mind right up to the hour of his
death, so all the neighbors said, should have neglected to speak about
the option he had given Pepper on the farm.

And here they were, right in the middle of the Spring work, with crops
in the ground and--as Mrs. Atterson agreed--it would be too late to go
hunting a farm for this present season.

But Hiram kept to work. He had Sister and Old Lem Camp out in the
garden, hand-weeding and thinning the carrots, onions, and other tender
plants. That Saturday he went through the entire garden--that part
already planted--with either the horse cultivator, or his wheel-hoe.

In planting parsnips, carrots, and other slow-germinating seeds, he had
mixed a few radish seed in the seeding machine; these sprang up quickly
and defined the rows, so that the space between rows could be cultivated
before the other plants had scarcely broke the surface of the soil.

Now these radish were beginning to be big enough to pull. Hiram brought
in a few bunches for their dinner on Saturday--the first fruits of the
garden.

"Now, I dunno why it is," said Mrs. Atterson, complacently, after
setting her teeth in the first radish and relishing its crispness,
"but this seems a whole lot better than the radishes we used to buy in
Crawberry. I 'spect what's your very own always seems better than other
folks's," and she sighed and shook her head.

She was thinking of the thing she had to face on Monday. Hiram hated to
see them all so down