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And it was signed before Caleb Schell the notary public." "So it was so it was, boy!" declared the other, suddenly smiting his knee. "I remember I witnessed Uncle Jeptha's signature once. But that was way back there in the winter before he was took sick." "Yes, sir?" said Hiram, eagerly. "That was an option on the old farm. So it was.
"Of course," said Hiram, slowly, handing back the paper indeed, Pepper had kept the grip of his forefinger and thumb on it all the time "Of course, Mrs. Atterson's lawyer must see this before she agrees to anything." "Why, Hiram! I ain't got no lawyer," exclaimed the old lady. "Go to Mr. Strickland, who made Uncle Jeptha's will," Hiram said to her.
The richness of the soil had been revealed when they dug the earthworm. For thousands of years the riches of yonder hillside had been washing down upon the bottom, and this alluvial was rich beyond computation. Here were several acres, the young farmer knew, which, however over-cropped the remainder of Uncle Jeptha's land had been, could not be impoverished in many seasons.
It seemed written in straight-forward language, the signatures were clear enough, and as he had seen and read Uncle Jeptha's will, he was quite sure that this was the old man's signature to the option which, for the sum of twenty dollars in hand paid to him, he agreed to sell his farm, situated so-and-so, for sixteen hundred dollars, cash, same to be paid over within one year of date.
Pepper had made him an offer for the farm that was 'way down low, and the old man laughed at him. "We hadn't none of us heard then the talk that came later about the railroad. But Pepper has a brother-in-law who's in the office of the company, and he thinks he gits inside information. "So, for some reason, he thought the railroad was going to touch Uncle Jeptha's farm. O' course, it ain't.
He found an old, but strong, carpenter's horse in the shed, to act as a fulcrum, and a seasoned bar of hickory as a lever. There was never an old farm yet that didn't have a useful heap of junk, and Hiram had already scratched over Uncle Jeptha's collection of many years' standng.
He rummaged about in what had been half woodshed and half workshop in Uncle Jeptha's time, and found a heavy claw-hammer, a pair of wire cutters, and a pocket full of fence staples. With this outfit he prepared to follow the line fence, which was likewise the pasture fence on the west side, between Mrs. Atterson's and Dickerson's. Where he could, he mended the broken strands of wire.
These early Spring days were busy ones for Hiram Strong. The mornings were frosty and he could not get to his fencing work until midforenoon. But there were plenty of other tasks ready to his hand. There were two south windows in the farmhouse kitchen. He tried to keep some fire in the stove there day and night, sleeping as he did in Uncle Jeptha's old bedroom nearby.
"Jeptha Atterson was no fool," interrupted Pollock. "I can't understand his giving an option on the farm, with all this talk of the railroad crossing the river." "But, Mr. Pollock!" exclaimed Hiram, eagerly, "you must know all about this option. You signed as a witness to Uncle Jeptha's signature." "No! you don't mean that?" exclaimed the farmer. "My name to it, too?" "Yes.
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