Lettie Bronson did not come to Sunnyside again that spring, but her father, of course, came frequently during the first weeks of Hiram's incumbency as superintendent of the hillside farm.
It had been finally agreed that the shed to be built to house the gang of workmen should be a permanent shelter for certain new farm implements that Hiram and his employer had decided upon. And, in addition, a silo was to be built.
"But go easy on the first cost, Hiram," Mr. Bronson continued. "This farm is for sale. An expensive silo will not help sell it any quicker than an old-fashioned silo."
"I don't know about that. It is altogether according to the man who buys. But I am not opposed to the old-fashioned stave silo, only it soon rots out."
"It will stand five years."
"And maybe for twenty," agreed Hiram quickly. "Just according."
"How about these new all metal ones?"
"They have not been tried out long enough for the reports of their usefulness to be verified."
"My gang of carpenters can put up the stave silo," Mr. Bronson said.
"All right, sir. But buy iron hoops for supports, Mr. Bronson, and use wire stays or one of these big winds they tell about around here will blow your silo over—especially before it is filled."