Agnes was strangely silent, which Jack, in his excitement overlooked.

"And even if he should like my girl—"

"Father!"

"Well?"

"Oh, please hush!"

"I will, Aggie," he said slowly. He bent forward presently, folded her close, kissed her, and then placing his hat on his head, went back to his work....

CHAPTER XVII

Table of Contents

HARVEST TIME AND WHAT CAME WITH IT

HARVEST time, harvest time! When the harvest time is, all worries have passed. When the harvest time is, all doubts, droughts, fears and tears are no more. When the golden grain falls upon the canvas; when the meadow larks, the robins and all the birds of the land sing the song of harvest time, the farmer is happy, is gay, and confident.

And harvest time was on in the country of our story.

Jean Baptiste pulled his new binder before the barn, jumped from the seat, and before he started to unhitch, he gazed out over a stretch of land which two years before, had been a mass of unbroken prairie, but was now a world of shocked grain. Thousands upon thousands of shocks stood over the field like a great army in the distance. His crop was good—the best. And no crops are like the crop on new land. Never, since the beginning of time had that soil tasted tamed plant life. It had seemed to appreciate the change, and the countless shocks before him were evidence to the fact.

From where he stood when he had unhitched, he gazed across country toward the southeast where lay his other land. Only a part of which he could see. As it rose in the distance he could see the white topped oats; and just beyond he could see the deep purple of the flaxseed blossoms. He sighed contentedly, unharnessed his horses, let them drink, and turned them toward the pasture. He was not tired; but he went to the side of the house which the sun did not strike, and sat him down. At the furthest side of the field he observed Bill and George as they shocked away to finish. He was at peace again, as he always was, and thereupon fell into deep thought.

"My crop of wheat will yield not less than thirty bushels to the acre," he whispered to himself. "And one hundred and thirty acres should then yield almost four thousand bushels. I should receive at least eighty cents the bushel, and that would approximate about three thousand dollars, with seed left to sow the land again." He paused in his meditation, and considered what even that alone would mean to him. He could pay the entire amount on the land he had purchased, and perhaps a thousand or two more from the flax crop. That would leave him owing but four hundred dollars on the land he had bought, and that amount he felt he would be able to squeeze out somewhere and have 520 acres clear!