"Catch Topsy and--" He paused because he remembered the old mare was dead.

"Run over and ask Mister Dwyer to lend me three hoes."

Dave went; Dwyer lent the hoes; and the problem was solved. That was
how we started.




Chapter II.



Our First Harvest


If there is anything worse than burr-cutting or breaking stones, it's
putting corn in with a hoe.

We had just finished. The girls were sowing the last of the grain when
Fred Dwyer appeared on the scene. Dad stopped and talked with him while
we (Dan, Dave and myself) sat on our hoe-handles, like kangaroos on their
tails, and killed flies. Terrible were the flies, particularly when you
had sore legs or the blight.

Dwyer was a big man with long, brown arms and red, bushy whiskers.

"You must find it slow work with a hoe?" he said.