water. By many signs he could say whether luck would be good or bad.
Small wonder that the boy felt very ignorant, very humble, in the
presence of this wise one!

Then, one day, the boy, to his amazement, learned that this wizard of
the barnyard knew nothing at all about fairies. Common, every day,
knowledge was this knowledge of fairies to the boy: but the wise one
knew nothing about them. So dense was his ignorance that he even
seemed to doubt and smiled an incredulous smile when the boy tried to
enlighten him.

It was a great day in his Yesterdays when the boy discovered that the
hired man did not know about fairies.

As the years passed and the time approached when the boy was to become
a man, he learned the meaning of many words that were as strange to
the intellectual hero of his childhood as the language of that
companion of horses had once been strange to him. In time, much of the
knowledge of that barnyard sage became, to the boy, even as the boy's
knowledge of fairies had been to the man. Still--still--it was a great
day in his Yesterdays when the boy discovered that the hired man did
not know about fairies. Perhaps, though, it was just as well that the
hired man did not know. If he had become too familiar with the
fairies, his potatoes might not have been planted either in the light
or the dark of the moon and the world's potatoes must be planted
somehow.

Equally great in his special field of knowledge was the old, white
haired, negro who lived in a tiny cabin just a little way over the
hill. Strange and awful were the things that _he_ knew about the