ing down and tying up" of
a ten-acre field of oats by the four of them, the "Old King" himself
driving the reaper.

"Yes, sir!" shouted Sammy. "And Joe, he took the last sheaf right off
that table! You bet!"

"How many of you?" asked Ben sharply.

"Just four," replied Sammy, turning quickly at Ben's unexpected
question.

"How many shocking?" continued Ben, with a judicial air.

"Why, none, you blamed gander! An' kep' us humpin', too, you bet!"

"I guess so," grunted Ben, "from what I've seed."

Sam regarded him steadfastly. "And what have you 'seed,' Mr. Fallows,
may I ask?" he inquired with fine scorn.

"Seed? Seed you bindin', of course."

"Well, what are ye hootin' about?" Sam was exceedingly wroth.

"I hain't been talking much for the last hour." In moments of excitement
Ben became uncertain of his h's. "I used to talk more when I wasn't so
busy, but I hain't been talkin' so much this 'ere 'arvest. We hain't
had time. When we're on a job," continued Ben, as the crowd drew near to
listen, "we hain't got time fer talkin', and when we're through we don't
feel like it. We don't need, to."

A general laugh of approval followed Ben's words.

"You're right, Ben. You're a gang of hustlers," said Alec Murray. "There
ain't much talkin' when you git a-goin'. But that's a pretty good day's
work, Ben, ten acres."

Ben gave a snort. "Yes. Not a bad day's work fer two men." He had no
love for any of the Morrisons, whose near neighbours he was and at whose
hands he had suffered many things.

"Two men!" shouted Sammy. "Your gang, I suppose you mean."

Suddenly Ben's self-control vanished. "Yes, by the jumpin' Jemima!" he
cried, facing suddenly upon Sam. "Them's the two, if yeh want to know.
Them's binders! They don't stop, at hevery corner to swap lies an' to
see if it's goin' to ran. They keep a-workin', they do. They don't wait
to cool hoff before they drink fer fear they git foundered, as if they
was 'osses, like you fellers up on the west side line there." Ben threw
his h's recklessly about. "You hain't no binders, you hain't. Yeh never
seed any."

At this moment "King" Morrison himself entered the blacksmith shop.

"Hello, Ben! What's eatin' you?" he exclaimed.

Ben grew suddenly quiet. "Makin' a bloomin' hass of myself, I guess," he
growled.

"What's up with Benny? He seems a little raised," said the "Old King,"
addressing the crowd generally.

"Oh, blowin' 'bout his harvestin' gang," said his son Sam