course, he had asked permission to go on a farm. His two years in the
State College had opened his eyes to modern methods of farming and the
use of Portland cement for farm buildings, and he wanted a chance to
try them out.

His father had hesitated at first in giving his consent, not because
he did not wish him to be in the open country, but because he felt,
now that he had reached the age of eighteen, he should be able to earn
money and direct his attention toward permanent employment, and he
could not think of farming as a business with so many other
opportunities at hand. A letter from his Uncle Joe, saying that he had
purchased the old farm, and would like to have Bob help him with the
work on his newly acquired property, had settled the matter, and, as
his uncle was anxious to make an early start, he had left home at
once.

He could not help noticing, as he gazed at the panorama before him,
the dilapidated appearance of the buildings and tumbled-down fences
half hidden by rank growths that confronted him on every side, but
this, for the moment, was of passing interest.

Across the valley to the east, in the twenty-five acres of woods, he
had once found the nest of a great white owl, and there on "Old Round
Top," as the steep hill directly opposite him was called, they had
overturned a wagon-load of hay one summer with him on top. He even
remembered the thrill he had received as he went flying through the
air, and how they had all laughed when he landed unhurt on a hay cock
some distance down the hill, just clear of the overturned wagon. Then
in the valley, at the foot of the hill, stood the old cider mill where
neighbors for miles around would bring their apples in the late summer