"For the land's sake!" exclaimed Mr. Bronson, quoting Miss Pringle, but looking puzzled, too.
"Exactly. For the land's sake. For the improvement of that twenty acres—or such of it as needs draining."
"But—Hiram—my dear fellow—"
"I am not starting something that I cannot put over, Mr. Bronson," laughed Hiram. "Nor is it a brand new idea of my own. I have seen timber in the rough employed in underdraining more than once. My father used to do it when the man who owned the farm father worked would not listen to the expense of tiles."
"Ha! I acknowledge the corn," replied Mr. Bronson.
"I am not criticising you, Mr. Bronson. You are preparing this farm for a sale. You wish to put it in as good shape as possible at as small expense as possible."
"Right, young man."
"So we will put in a drain that will answer every purpose of tiling for a few years. In very low, wet ground logs laid in a ditch, and covered, will last twenty years—sometimes forty. On this upland the life of the timber I mean to use will not be so long."
"But it is fire-killed."
"That makes no difference. I've been over there and looked at it. You couldn't knock any of those trees down. The fire went through there only last year. They are not punky."