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Updated: June 25, 2025
"I'll take a look around the barns before I come in," remarked the careful young farmer. This was a duty he never neglected, no matter how late he went to bed, nor how tired he was. Half way to the barn he halted. A light was waving wildly by the Dickerson back door. It was a lantern, and Hiram knew that it was being whirled around and around somebody's head.
"I can try, anyway," said Hiram, more quietly, but with confidence. "We'll see." "And say," Henry added, suddenly, "I was going to tell you something. You won't raise these tomatoes nor no other crop if Pete Dickerson can stop ye." "What's the matter with Pete now?" asked Hiram, troubled by thought of the secret enemy who had already struck at him in the dark.
And one of the coops was shut tight, although he knew by the rustling within that there were young turkeys in it. It was too dark within the hutch, however, for the youth to number the poults confined there. He strolled back across the fields to the rear of the Dickerson house.
"Merely go and pull the new posts up and replace them on the line. If Dickerson interferes with you, come to me and we'll have him bound over before the Justice of the Peace. "You represent Mrs. Atterson and are within her rights. That's the best I can tell you."
Dickerson dropped his hand without turning up the gas; perhaps he did not need a stronger light on Cornelia, after all. "Oh, well! I don't want to drive you out of the house. I'll go. I've got my grip out here in the hall. But see here! I told Mrs.
"Why, Sister!" he cried, taking the girl by the shoulders, and turning her about. "What's the matter?" "Oh, I want to go home, Hi. This isn't any place for me. Let me me run run home!" she sobbed. "I guess not! Who's bothered you? Has that Pete Dickerson come back?" "No!" sobbed Sister. "What is it, then?" "They they don't want me here. They don't like me." "Who don't?" demanded Hiram, sternly.
"How do you know now that you did?" asked Jack, thrilled with satisfaction, while he dragged the other into the hall so that he might close the front door. "Why, while we were just finishing breakfast who should stop at the house but Mr. Dickerson himself.
"Fresh Ike, ain't yer?" demanded young Dickerson. He was half a head taller than Hiram, and plainly felt himself safe in adopting bullying tactics. "You put them posts back where you found 'em and string the wires again in a hurry or I'll make yer." "This is Mrs. Atterson's fence," said Hiram, quietly. "I have made inquiries about the line, and I know where it belongs."
The pies, oh, what pies Mother makes; no dyspepsia in 'em, but good-nature an' good health an' hospitality! Pumpkin pies, mince an' apple too, and then a big dish of pippins an' russets an' bellflowers, an', last of all, walnuts with cider from the Zebrina Dickerson farm!
Cornelia look the tea and drank it, but she could not speak. It would have been easier to bear if she had only had herself alone to blame, but mixed with her shame, and with her pity for him, was a sense of his want of wisdom in refusing to let her speak at once, when she wanted to tell him all about Dickerson.
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