ring of smoke. "It hit him in the middle of the night before last, and
he wrote me a note. Mammy grubs him, and I haven't seen him since. I've
paid the Byrd a half interest in the next young that happens to us not
to go down the hill to the shack, and we're all just going on as usual."

"Maybe I'd better not go, either," I said, with awe and sympathy for
Peter fairly dropping from the words as I uttered them.

"Betty," said Sam as he looked at me through a ring of smoke that the
warm wind blew away over our heads, "you run just a little more sense to
the cubic foot of dirt than the average, it seems to me. Come on down
and watch them begin to cut wheat. It is one week ahead of time, so I
can get all the harvesters and not a grain will be lost. They say it'll
run sixty bushels to the acre. Think of that, with only a thirty-six
record to beat in the Valley. It is that Canadian cross. The
Commissioner is down there, and so is your admirer, Chubb. He wastes
many hours riding over here to see you when you are in town on frivolous
pursuits."

"Frivolous!" I echoed as we went up the path back of the house; and on
our way over the hill I told him about Tolly and Edith. Sam laughed; he
always does when I want him to; but his eyes were grave after a second.

"The mating season is a troublesome time, isn't it, Betty?" he asked, as
he swung me to the top rail of the fence, vaulted over it, and held up
his arms to lift me down on the other side; but I sat poised in midair
to argue his proposition.

"It ought not to be, Sam," I said, with an experienced feeling rising in
my mind and voice at thus discussing fundamentals with a man that could