fitfully dying away. Milton made the most of everything,
and besides he was on his way to see Eileen. He could afford to be gay.

Bradley thought, even while he husked the corn, one of the bitterest of
all farm tasks when the cold winds of November begin to blow. Councill
had a large field of corn and every morning in the cold and frosty
light Ike and Bradley were out in the field, each with a team.
Beautiful mornings, if one could have looked upon it from a window in a
comfortable home. There were mornings when the glittering purple and
orange domes of the oaks and maples swam in the mist dreamfully, so
beautiful the eyes lingered upon them wistfully. Mornings when the dim
lines of the woods were a royal purple, and gray-blue shadows streamed
from the trees upon the yellow-green grass.

Husking was the last of the fall work and the last day of husking found
Bradley desolately undecided. They had been working desperately all the
week to finish the field on Saturday. It was a bitter cold morning. As
they leaped into the frost-rimmed wagon-box and caught up the reins,
the half-frozen team sprang away with desperate energy, making the
wagon bound over the frozen ground with a thunderous clatter.

In every field the sound of similar wagons getting out to work could be
heard. It was not yet light. A leaden-gray dome of cloud had closed in
over the morning sky and the feeling of snow was in the air. There was
only a dull flush of red in the east to show the night had been
frostily clear.

Ike raised a great shout to let his neighbors know he was in the field.
Councill, with a fork over his shoulder, was on his way down the lane
to help a neighbor thresh. Ike jovially shook the reins above his colts
and Bradley followed close behind, and the two wagons went crashing
through the forest of corn. The race started the blood of the drivers
as well as that of the teams. The cold wind cut the face like a knife
and the crackling corn-stalks flew through the air as the wagons swept
over them. Reaching the farther side they turned in and faced toward
the house, the horses blowing white clouds of breath.

"Jee Whitaker!" shouted Ike, as he crouched on the leeward side of his
wagon, and threshed his arms around his chest, after having finished
blanketing his team to protect them against the ferocious wind. "I'm
thunderin' glad this is the last day of this kind o' thing."

He looked like a grizzly bear in bad repair. He had an old fu