LINK'S WOOD-PILE.
Every ten or fifteen minutes he called Vinnie or Lill to see how the pile grew; and at last he insisted on bringing Cecie, and letting her be astonished.
Cecie was only too glad of any little diversion. She could walk with a good deal of assistance; Vinnie almost lifted the poor girl in her loving arms; Link supported her on the other side; and so they bore her to the back-room, where she leaned affectionately on Vinnie, while Link stood aside and pointed proudly at his wood-pile.
"We never could get him to bring in a stick of wood before, without teasing or scolding him," said Lill.
"This is different; there's some fun in this," said Link. "Rufe and Wad have been at work like sixty; and we wanted to see how big a pile we could make."
All praised the performance; and Mrs. Betterson so far forgot herself as to say she felt rich now, with so much nice, dry, split wood in the house.
"But what a remark," she added immediately, turning to Vinnie, "for one of our family to make!"
"I was never so proud of my brothers!" said Cecie. "If I was only well enough, how I should like to help pile up that wood!"
"Dear Cecie!" cried Vinnie, embracing her, "I wish you were well enough! And I hope you will be some time."
The wood was all disposed of that afternoon, and the boys concluded that they had had a pretty good time over it.
"Now we can loaf for a whole week, and make a business of it," said Wad.
"There's one more job that ought to be done," said Rufe. "That potato-patch. We can't keep the pigs out of it, and it's time the potatoes were dug."
"I s'pose so," said Wad. "Wish we had a hired man."
"It isn't much of a job," said Rufe. "And we don't want to be seen loafing round, now she's here."
"We can go up in the woods and loaf," said Wad.
"Don't talk silly," said Rufe. "Come, I'll go at the potatoes to-morrow, if you will. We'll dig, and make Link pick 'em up."
"I was going to shoot some more prairie chickens to-morrow. We've no other meat for dinner."
"We'll get father to shoot them. Come, Wad, what do you say?"
Wad declined to commit himself to an enterprise requiring so large an outlay of bone and muscle. All Rufe could get from him was a promise to "sleep on the potatoes" and say what he thought of them in morning.
The next morning accordingly, before the cattle were turned out of the yard, Rufe said,—
"Shall we yoke up the steers and take the wagon down into the potato-patch? We can be as long as we please filling it."
"Yes, we may as well take it down there and leave it," Wad assented; and the steers were yoked accordingly.
Lord Betterson was not surprised to see the wagon go to the potato-patch, where he thought it might as well stay during the rest of the season, as anywhere else. But he was surprised afterward to see the three boys—or perhaps we should say four, for Chokie was of the party—start off with their hoes and baskets.
"We are going to let you shoot the prairie chickens this forenoon," said Rufe. "You'll find the gun and ammunition all ready, in the back-room. We are going at the potatoes."
Link went ahead and pulled the tops, and afterward picked up the potatoes, filling the baskets, which his brothers helped him carry off and empty into the wagon-box; while Chokie dug holes in the black loam to his heart's content.
"We might have had a noble crop here," said Rufe, "if it hadn't been for the weeds and pigs. Wad, we mustn't let the weeds get the start of us so another year. And we'll do some repairs on the fences this fall. I'm ashamed of 'em!"