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The teacher followed his host, gingerly rubbing the knuckles which had been left blue by the farmer's strong grip. "Erie out in her boat?" he asked, casually. "I don't hear her voice, or her whistle." "That's so, Billy." Hinter laughed and slapped the lad's shoulder. "Well I'll see that he bores on your daddy's farm just as soon as he strikes water on his own. I intend to help him get started, because I think it's going to be a good thing for everybody. Besides, I know boring-rigs from bit to derrick. It's my trade, you see.".

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"Well, it's time you did think. Now you know that ol' Scroggie left him everythin' he owned, don't you?" He sighed and turned to glance back at the cottage resting in the hardwood grove. It looked very homey, very restful to him, beneath its vines of clustering wild-grape and honeysuckle. It was home—home it must be always. And Mary loved it just as he loved it; this he knew. She was a fine woman, a great helpmate, a wonderful wife and mother. She was fair minded too. She loved Billy quite as much as she loved her own son, Anson. Billy must be more careful, more thoughtful of her comfort. He would have a heart to heart talk with his son, he told himself as he went on to the barn. He lifted the basket to the counter and, taking the parcels from it, carefully emptied their contents back into the drawers from which they had been filled. Then from beneath the counter he drew out a box and with exquisite pains filled each of the empty bags and the cracker-box with sawdust. He tied the bags, packed them in the basket, tucked a roll of tea lead in the bottom, to give the basket weight, and placed it on the counter. Then he went outside to sit on the bench and await Billy's return. "Well said, Miss, well said!" cried Miss Proudfoot, who was a very good hand at whist and very quarrelsome over the game..