Under its heavy and sprawling limbs lay the four young steers, their backs broken by the weight of the fallen tree.
"There lies a hundred dollars profit, as sure as you live, Orrin," Hiram Strong declared. "I hate to tell Mr. Bronson that. And look at that silo, too."
"Don't worry," said the other, but looking grimly at the dead cattle. "You did not bring the wind, I should hope. And that silo isn't your business, either."
Hiram, nevertheless, was much disturbed by the unfortunate accident. Mr. Bronson and Lettie came up to Sunnyside that afternoon. The loss of the young cattle was, of course, irreparable; but the owner of Sunnyside declared he would demand that Dolan and MacComb straighten up the silo and make it firm before the next wind.
"Maybe I would have been wiser had I built the silo of cement, after all," he said to his young farm manager. "It is hard to know sometimes where real economy begins. 'Penny wise and pound foolish' is not my usual failing—
"How about your log drains, Hiram? That was another economy."
"You ought to have seen the water spurting out of the drains after that big rain last night. Come down there and have a look now."
He included Lettie in this invitation and hoped that she would come; but the girl tossed her head, although it was with a smile that she refused.
"That is all I hear—farming," she said. "Now that I have finished school I think papa ought to take me to some summer resort this year. I'm tired of Plympton."
"Wait till you are grown up, Lettie," said Mr. Bronson carelessly.