"There's only one way out of the trouble," he said. "We must pack some of
this truck to the top. What's in those bags?"

"One's oats," answered the woman. "It's four bushel. Other one's linseed
cake. Those slates for Bell's new stable are the heaviest."

Carroll came up with Evelyn just then, and Vane spoke to him.

"Come here and help me with this bag!"

They had it ready at the back of the cart in a few moments, and Evelyn,
who knew that a four-bushel bag of oats is difficult to move, was
astonished at the ease with which they handled it. Vane got the bag upon
his back and walked up the hill with it. The veins stood out on his
forehead and his face grew red, but he plodded steadily on and came back
for another load.

"I'll take an armful of the slates this time, Carroll. You can tackle
the cake."

The cake was heavy, though the bag was not full, and when they returned,
Carroll was breathing hard and there were smears of blood on one of
Vane's hands. The old woman gazed at him in amazed admiration.

"Thank you, sir," she said. "There's not many men wad carry four bushel
up a bank like that."

Vane laughed.