"Yes. It don't look like it, I know, but old Job Hagar say it'll rain
before night, and what he don't know about the weather ain't worth
knowin'. I want to get the hay on this meadow into the barn, and then
I'll feel safe, rain or shine."

"And you want me to help you?"

"Yes; you look strong and hardy."

"Yes, I am pretty strong," said Carl, complacently.

"Well, what do you say?"

"All right. I'll help you."

Carl gave a spring and cleared the fence, landing in the hay field,
having first thrown his valise over.

"You're pretty spry," said the farmer. "I couldn't do that."

"No, you're too heavy," said Carl, smiling, as he noted the clumsy
figure of his employer. "Now, what shall I do?"

"Take that rake and rake up the hay. Then we'll go over to the barn and
get the hay wagon."

"Where is your barn?"

The farmer pointed across the fields to a story-and-a-half farmhouse,
and standing near it a good-sized barn, brown from want of paint and