s
near. Rumors of railroad and canal projects and river improvements were
on every tongue. Samson and Sarah took new heart of the prospect and
decided to try another year in New Salem, although an Irishman had made a
good offer for their farm. Land was in great request and there were many
transfers of title. Abe had more surveying to do than he was able to
accomplish that summer. Harry was with him for some weeks. He could earn
two dollars a day with Abe, whereas Samson was able to hire a helper for
half that sum. Harry made a confident of his friend, and when they were
working at the northern end of the county they borrowed a pair of horses
and rode up to Kelso's house and spent a Sunday there.

Bim met them down the road a mile or so from Hopedale. She, too, was on
the back of a horse. She recognized them before they were in hailing
distance and waved her hand and hurried toward them with a happy face.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To see you and your father and mother," said Harry.

A sad look came into her eyes.

"If I had a stone I would throw it at you," she said.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because I have to get used to being miserable, and just as I begin to be
resigned to it, you come along and make me happy, and I have it all to do
over again."

The young man stopped his horse.

"I hadn't thought of that," he said, with a sad face. "It isn't fair to
you, is it? It's rather--selfish."

"Why don't you go to Brimstead's," Bim suggested. "A beautiful girl over
there is in love with you. Honestly, Harry, there isn't a sweeter girl in
all the world."

"I ought not to go there, either," said the young man.

"Why?"

"Because I mustn't let her think that I care for her. I'll go over to
Peasley's and wait for Abe there."

"Look here," said the latter. "You both remind me of a man in a Kentucky
village who couldn't bear to hear a rooster crow. It kept him awake
nights, for the roosters did a lot o' crowing down there. He moved from
one place to another, trying to find a cockless town. He couldn't. There
was no such place in Kentucky. He thought of taking to the woods, but he
hated loneliness more than he hated roosters. So he did a sensible thing.
He started a chicken farm and got used to it. He found that a little
crowing was too much, and that a lot of it was just what he needed. You
two have got to get used to each other. What you need is more crowing. If
you saw each other every day you wouldn't l