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The "castors" at both ends and in the middle were the ugliest Hiram was sure to be found in all the city of Crawberry. The crockery was of the coarsest kind. The knives and forks were antediluvian. The napkins were as coarse as huck towels. But Mrs. Atterson's food considering the cost of provisions and the charge she made for her table was very good.
Having got a certain number of towns folks to expect him at least thrice a week, when other farmers had green stuff for sale they could not easily "cut out" Hiram later in the season. And not always did the young farmer have to leave his work at home to deliver the vegetables and Mrs. Atterson's butter. Sister, or the old lady herself, could go to town if the load was not too heavy.
In odd moments Hiram had cut and set a few posts, bought poultry netting in Scoville, and enclosed Mrs. Atterson's chicken-run. She had taken his advice and sent for eggs, and already had four hens setting and expected to set the remainder of the of the eggs in a few days. Sister took an enormous interest in this poultry-raising venture.
That afternoon Hiram hitched up the old horse and drove into town. He went to see the lawyer who had transacted Uncle Jeptha Atterson's small business in the old man's lifetime, and had made his will Mr. Strickland. Hiram judged that this gentleman would know as much about the Atterson place as anybody. "No Mr.
"It will be hard enough for her to put out money all season long before there are any returns. We'll go, slow," repeated Hiram. But when he left the farm that afternoon he went swiftly enough to Scoville and took the train for the not far distant city of Crawberry. This was Tuesday evening and he arrived just about supper time at Mrs. Atterson's.
"Father says he'll git in here for you with three head and a Number 3 plow by the middle of this week if you say so 'nless it rains again, of course. But he's afeared you're goin' to waste Mrs. Atterson's money for her." "Nothing ventured, nothing gained," quoted Hiram, grimly. "If a farmer didn't take chances every year, the whole world would starve to death!"
Already Hiram had to turn up the collar of his rough coat, and a few flakes of snow were settling on his shoulders as he walked. "It's winter yet," he mused. "If I can't get something to do in the city for a few weeks to tide me over, I'm afraid I shall have to find a cheaper place to board than at Mother Atterson's."
"Then he has left that threat hanging, like the Sword of Damocles over Mrs. Atterson's head?" "I don't know nothin' about that sword, Mr. Strickland, nor no other sword, 'cept a rusty one that my father carried when he was a hoss-sodger in the Rebellion," declared Mother Atterson, nervously. "But if that Pepper man's got one belonging to Mr. Damocles, I shouldn't be at all surprised.
They say you have. They tell Pete a whole lot of stuff just to see him git riled. "And last night he slopped over. He said if you reported around that he put fire to Mis' Atterson's woods, he'd put it to the house and barns! Oh, he was wild." Hiram's face flushed, and then paled. "Did Pete try to bum the woods, Hiram?" queried Henry, shrewdly.
Atterson's house next time! Besides, Hiram felt himself responsible for his employer's property. The old lady could not afford to lose the fodder, and Hiram was determined that both of the burned stacks should be paid for in full. He looked through the window of the Dickerson kitchen. The family was around the supper table-Mr. and Mrs. Dickerson, Pete, and the children, little and big.
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