mile over
yonder," pointing with the whip.

"You drive over there for me, and get
some--just like this here--pickets and posts
and whatever you call them long pieces, and
I'll make it right with you."

"Yes, sir--how much will I get?"

"Oh, tell him to fill the waggon up with
it, and I'll send back what I don't
want--hustle, now, like a good boy; I want to get
shut of this job; I liked it better before I begun."

When his Mercury had speeded on the
journey at a faster gait than Red would have
given him credit for, the architect strode
down to the blacksmith's shop. There was a
larger crowd than usual around the forge, as
the advent of the stranger had gotten into
the wind, and the village Vulcan was a person
who not only looked the whole world in the
face, but no one of the maiden ladies of
Fairfield could have excelled his interest in
looking the whole world as much in the inside
pocket as possible. The blacksmith was
emphatically a gossip, as well as a hardworking,
God-fearing man.

"Say, there he comes now, Mr. Tuttle!"
cried one of the loungers, and nudged the
smith to look.

"Well, let him come!" retorted the smith,
testily, jamming a shoe in the fire with
unnecessary force; as a matter of fact, he was
embarrassed. The loungers huddled together
for moral support, as the big cow-man loomed
through the doorway.

"Good morning, friends!" said he.

"Good morning, sir!" replied the
blacksmith, rubbing his hands on his apron. "Nice
day, sir?"

"For the sake of good fellowship, I'll say
'yes' to that," responded Red. "But if you
want my honest opinion on the subject, it's
damn hot."

"'Tis that," assented the smith, and a
silence followed.

"Say, who's your crack fence-builder
around here?" asked Red. "The man that
can make two pickets grow where only one
grew before and do it so easy that it's a
pleasure to sit and look at him?"

"Hey?" inquired the smith, not precisely
getting the meaning of the address.

"Why, I've got a fence to build," exclaimed
Red. "And now I want some help--want it
so bad, I'll produce to the extent of three a
day and call it a day from now 'till six
o'clock--any takers here? Make your bets while the
little ball rolls."

The loungers understood the general drift
of this and pricked up their ears, as did the
blacksmith. "Guess one of the boys will help
you," said the latter.

"Well, who's it?" asked Red, glancing at
the circle of faces. Three dolla