s on.

"We have been having a little excitement, Sir, in the form of a race,"
replied Cameron, "and I've been backing Tim."

"Looks as if you've got him wound up so's he can't stop," replied Haley,
pointing to the boy, who was still going at racing pace and was just
finishing his drill. "Oh, well, a boy's a boy and you've got to humour
him now and then," continued Haley, making conversation with diplomatic
skill. Then turning to Perkins, as if dismissing a trivial subject, he
added, "Looks to me as if that hay in the lower meadow is pretty nigh
fit to cut. Guess we'd better not wait till next week. You best start
Tim on that with the mower in the mornin'." Then, taking a survey of the
heavens, he added, "Looks as if it might be a spell of good weather."
His diplomacy was successful and the moment of danger was past. Meantime
Cameron had sauntered to the end of the drill where Tim stood leaning
quietly on his hoe.

"Tim, you are a turnip-hoer!" he said, with warm admiration in his
tone, "and what's more, Tim, you're a sport. I'd like to handle you in
something big. You will make a man yet."

Tim's whole face flushed a warm red under the coat of freckles. For a
time he stood silently contemplating the turnips, then with difficulty
he found his voice.

"It was you done it," he said, choking over his words. "I was beat there
and was just quittin' when you came along and spoke. My!" he continued,
with a sharp intake of his breath, "I was awful near quittin'," and
then, looking straight into Cameron's eyes, "It was you done it,
and--I--won't forget." His voice choked again, but, reading his eyes,
Cameron knew that he had gained one of life's greatest treasures, a
boy's adoring gratitude.

"This has been a great day, Tim," said Cameron. "I have learned to hoe
turnips, and," putting his hand on the boy's shoulder, "I believe I have
made a friend." Again the hot blood surged into Tim's face. He stood
voiceless, but he needed no words. Cameron knew well the passionate
emotion that thrilled his soul and shook the slight body, trembling
under his hand. For Tim, too, it had been a notable day. He had achieved
the greatest ambition of his life in beating the best turnip-hoer on the
line, and he, too, had found what to a boy is a priceless treasure, a
man upon whom he could lavish the hero worship of his soul.

CHAPTER IV

A RAINY DAY

It was haying time. Over the fields of yellowing fall wheat and barley,
of grey ti