“I have several farms that are paying me good incomes; but good farm-managers are hard to get. I wanted to train one—a young man. I ran against a promising lad before you came to the Atterson place; but I lost track of him.
“Had you been willing to leave Mrs. Atterson and come to me,” continued Mr. Bronson, “I believe I could have licked you into shape last season so that you would have suited me very well,” and he laughed outright.
“But now I want you to meet my future farm-manager. He is the very fellow I wanted before I offered the chance to you. I reckon you'll be glad to see him——”
While he was talking, Mr. Bronson had put his hand on Hiram's shoulder, and urged him down the length of the room. They had come to a heavy portiere; Hiram thought it masked a doorway.
“Here is the fellow himself,” exclaimed Bronson suddenly.
The curtain was whisked away. Hiram heard Lettie giggling somewhere in the folds of it. And he found himself staring straight into a long mirror which reflected both himself and the laughing Mr. Bronson.
“Hiram Strong!” spoke the Westerner, admonishingly, “why didn't you tell me long ago that you were the lad who turned my horses out of the ditch that evening back in Crawberry?”
“Why—why——”
“His fatal modesty,” laughed Lettie, appearing and clapping her hands.
“I guess it wasn't that,” said Hiram, slowly. “What was the use? I would have been glad of your assistance at the time; but when I found you I had already made a contract with Mrs. Atterson, and—what was the use?”