"Wheat."
"Thought so. It won't be much of a crop, I fear."
"How much tiling would it need to drain that whole piece properly, do you think? I understand from the farmers about here that that twenty acres has never made heavy crops—neither of corn nor grain. It has been limed well, too."
"The litmus paper test will prove or disprove that," said Hiram. "But it is high, almost level land, and right along the roadside. It ought to grow you a good crop to advertise the farm."
"I presume that's so, Hiram," laughed Mr. Bronson. "But a carload of tiles, and dragged clear up here from the siding at Pringleton, would cost a heap of money."
"Yes," agreed the young farmer. "Perhaps you had better make the better fields pay in advance for the improvements on the poor ones."
"Oh, wait!" cried Lettie Bronson, with a pout. "You men have begun talking farming like a house afire—right at the start! I can't get a word in edgewise, and I've got news for Hiram. You know, Hiram, I only came on from St. Beris yesterday, just to remain at Plympton with father over Sunday."
"And I only got here last night, Miss Lettie," the young fellow said.
"Then we might have traveled together just as well as not!" she cried.
"I guess not," laughed her father. "You went to see that machinery we talked about, didn't you, Hi?"