sickle, hoe and trowel. As he passed the Kelso cabin he whistled the
tune of _Sweet Nightingale_. It had haunted his mind since he had heard
it in the woods. He whistled as loudly as ever he could and looked at the
windows. Before he had passed Bim's face looked out at him with a smile
and her hand flickered back of the panes and he waved his to her. His
heart beat fast as he hurried along.

"I'm not so very young," he said to himself. "I wish I hadn't put on
these old clothes. Mrs. Traylor is an awful nice woman but she's
determined to make me look like a plow horse. I don't see why she
couldn't let me wear decent clothes."

Sarah had enjoyed mothering the boy. His health had returned. His cheeks
were ruddy, his dark eyes clear and bright, his tall form erect and
sturdy. Moreover the affectionate care his new friends had given him and
his interest in the girl filled his heart with the happiness which is the
rain of youth and without which it becomes an arid desert.

He had helped Alexander Ferguson with the making of the fireplace and
knew how to mix the mortar. He worked with a will for his heart was in
the new home. It was a fine September morning. The warm sunlight had set
the meadow cocks a crowing. The far reaches of the great, grassy plain
were dimmed with haze. It was a vast, flowery wilderness, waving and
murmuring in the breeze like an ocean. How long those acres, sown by the
winds of heaven, had waited for the plowman now arrived!

Harry felt the beauty of the scene but saw and enjoyed more the face of
Bim Kelso as he worked and planned his own house--no cabin but a mansion
like that of Judge Harper in the village near his old home. He had filled
every crevice in the rear wall and was working on the front when he heard