Michael grew red with excitement.
‘I’d like to go all right,’ he said, ‘but of course I couldn’t leave the farm and the children.’
‘Michael, you are very brave, and you did fairly well last year, yet you made hardly enough to carry you through the winter.’
‘I have planted more this year,’ said the boy confidently.
‘Yes,’ said Mr. Hall, ‘and each year you will plant a little more until you are working all your land. But if you knew something about modern farming you could make it yield at least four times as much as it does.’
‘How could I?’
‘You would know what to plant in a field one year in order to get good corn the next; which soil is good for wheat and which for potatoes; and how to make old land young.’
‘I’d like it mighty well,’ sighed Michael, ‘but I must stick to the farm and the children. Mother wanted us to stay together.’
‘I would not ask you to come if we could not take the children, too.’
‘But,’ cried Michael in alarm, ‘you said it was a place for orphans; I promised mother I would never let the children go to an asylum.’