“I guess your pa is pretty good to you. Like enough he did n’t take after any one with a strapped pocket-book.”
“No,” laughed the boy; “Father is always kind to me. But I wish—I wish—”
“What, child?”
“I wish we lived together on a farm like this, where we could enjoy each other. All day he ’s at the bank, you know.”
“IT WAS NEARLY ELEVEN O'CLOCK WHEN THEY ENTERED THE FAIR GROUNDS.” (SEE PAGE 100.)
“If he worked the farm,” said the woman, “you would n’t see much of him then, either, ’cept at meal-time. Mart’n Luther gits up at daylight, works in the fields all day, an’ goes to bed after supper. In heaven we may find time to enjoy the sassiety of our friends, but p’r’aps there ‘ll be so much company there, it won’t matter.”
“I think,” said the boy, solemnly, “we need a good deal more here than we shall need in heaven. Does any one get what he needs, I wonder?”
“Some may, but not many,” she rejoined cheerfully. “Some of us don’t get even gasolene, you know. Funny, ain’t it, how such a little thing ’ll spoil a great big creation like this? Why, in some ways, it beats Silas Herrin’s new thrash’n’-machine; but it aint so useful, ‘cause the thrash’n’-machine runs along the road without horses to where it wants to go, an’ then its injynes do the thrashin’ better ’n hands can do it.”
“I ’ve never really examined one,” he replied thoughtfully; “it must be very interesting.”
“Come into the barn,” she said, “an’ I ’ll show you Silas Herrin’s new one. He brought it here yest’day, but he an’ all his crew are at the fair107
