mysterious way. "I've got my line set for a whaling big fish that will
make you all green with envy. You just wait and see what I get on the
end of _my_ line."

He chuckled as he spoke. The line he meant was in a sealed envelope on
Judge Parker's desk, and he was sure that it would draw the prize
which would be envied by every boy in the neighbourhood.

"I'll bet it's tied to a bean-pole," was the mocking answer. "Come
along, boys, no use wasting time on an old dig like Ab."

He stood leaning on his hoe-handle a moment, watching the boys file
down the alley with their fishing-poles over their shoulders, and
thought of the shady creek bank where they would soon be sitting. How
much pleasanter to be where the willows dipped down into the clear,
still pools than here in the rough furrows of the garden, with the hot
sun beating down on him. It was only for a moment he stood there,
longing to follow, then he fell to work again.

Every thud of the hoe, as it struck into the rich earth, kept time to
the refrain which repeated itself over and over in his mind: "The
_hand_ of the _dil_-i-gent _ma_-keth _rich_!" That was the tune to
which he set everything during the two months that followed. He
hurried through his Aunt Jane's chores in an impatient way, doing as
little as possible in order to get back to his own work. She wondered
why he was so absorbed in his garden. When he was not weeding or
watering or planting, he was counting the number of pea-pods on every
vine, or the ears of corn as they tasselled out on each stalk. He had
put brains as well as muscle into his summer's work, asking questions
and advice of every gardener in Bardstown, and carefully reading the