THREE YOUNG KNIGHTS

By Annie Hamilton Donnell




CHAPTER I.

The last wisp of hay was in the Eddy mows. "Come on!" shouted Jot.
"Here she goes--hip, hip, hoo-ray!"

"Hoor-a-ay!" echoed Kent. But of course Old Tilly took it calmly. He
planted his brown hands pocket-deep and his bare, brown legs wide apart,
and surveyed the splendid, bursting mows with honest pride.

"Yes, sir, that's the finest lot o' hay in Hexham county; beat it if you
can, sir!" he said approvingly. Then, being ready, he caught off his
own hat and cheered, too.

"Hold on, you chaps; give the old man a chance to holler with you!"
Father Eddy's big, hearty voice cried above the din, and there was the
flaring, sun-browned "wide-awake" swinging with the other hats.

"Hooray for the best hay in town! Hooray for the smartest team o' boys!
Hooray for lib-er-tee!"

"Hooray! Hooray!"

They were all of them out of breath and red in the face, but how they