"All right, Silas. He don't look very old, though."

"No, ma'am. I ain't twenty-one yet," answered Carl, who was really
sixteen.

"I shouldn't say you was. You ain't no signs of a mustache."

"I keep it short, ma'am, in warm weather," said Carl.

"It don't dull a razor any to cut it in cold weather, does it?" asked
the farmer, chuckling at his joke.

"Well, no, sir; I can't say it does."

It was a boiled dinner that the farmer's wife provided, corned beef and
vegetables, but the plebeian meal seemed to Carl the best he ever ate.
Afterwards there was apple pudding, to which he did equal justice.

"I never knew work improved a fellow's appetite so," reflected the young
traveler. "I never ate with so much relish at home."

After dinner they went back to the field and worked till the supper
hour, five o'clock. By that time all the hay had been put into the barn.

"We've done a good day's work," said the farmer, in a tone of
satisfaction, "and only just in time. Do you see that dark cloud?"

"Yes, sir."