rning,
however, in time for supper. He, as well as his wife (dear simple soul),
looked upon us as next door to educated Indians and entertained us in a
flutter of excited hospitality.

We told them of Dakota, of the prairies, describing the wonderful farm
machinery, and boasting of the marvellous crops our father had raised in
Iowa, and the old people listened in delighted amaze.

They put us to bed at last in a queer high-posted, corded bedstead and I
had a feeling that we were taking part in a Colonial play. It was like
living a story book. We stared at each other in a stupor of
satisfaction. We had never hoped for such luck. To be thrust back
abruptly into the very life of our forebears was magical, and the
excitement and delight of it kept us whispering together long after we
should have been asleep.

This was thirty years ago, and those kindly old souls have long since
returned to dust, but their big four-posted bed is doing service, no
doubt, in the home of some rich collector. I have forgotten their names
but they shall live here in my book as long as its print shall endure.

They seemed sorry to have us go next morning, but as they had nothing
for us to do, they could only say, "Good-bye, give our love to Jane, if
you see her, she lives in Illinois." Illinois and Dakota were all the
same to them!

Again we started forth along the graceful, irregular, elm-shaded roads,
which intersected the land in every direction, perfectly happy except
when we remembered our empty pockets. We could not get accustomed to the
trees and the beauty of the vineclad stone walls. The lanes made
_pictures_ all the time. So did the apple trees and the elms and the
bending streams.

About noon of this day we came to a farm of very considerable size and
fairly level, on which the hay remained uncut. "Here's our chance," I
said to my brother, and going in, boldly accosted the farmer, a youngish
man with a bright and pleasant face. "Do you want some skilled help?" I
called out.

The farmer admitted that he did, but eyed us as if jokers. Evidently we
did not look precisely like workmen to him, but I jolted him by saying,
"We are Iowa schoolboys out for a vacation. We were raised on a farm,
and know all about haying. If you'll give us a chance we'll make you
think you don't know much about harvesting hay."

This amused him. "Come in," he said, "and after dinner we'll see about
it."

At dinner we laid ourselves out to impress our h