“For the Land o' Goshen!” the ex-boarding house mistress had finally exclaimed. “To think that I own all of this. Why, Hi, it don't seem as if it was so. I can't get used to it. And this timber, you say, is all worth money? And if I cut it off, it will grow up again——”
“In thirty to forty years the pine will be worth cutting again—and some of the other trees,” said Hiram, with a smile.
“Well! that would be something for Sister to look forward to,” said the old lady, evidently thinking aloud. “And I don't expect her folks—whoever they be—will ever look her up now, Hiram.”
“But with the timber cut and this side hill cleared, you would have a very valuable thirty acres, or so, of tillage—valuable for almost any crop, and early, too, for it slopes toward the sun,” said the young farmer, ignoring the other's observation.
“Well, well! it's wonderful,” returned Mrs. Atterson.
But she listened attentively to what he had to say about clearing the bottom land, which was a much more easily accomplished task, as Hiram showed her. It would cost something to put the land into shape for late corn, and so prepare it for some more valuable crop the following season.
“Well, nothing ventured, nothing have!” Mrs. Atterson finally agreed. “Go ahead—if it won't cost much more than what you say to get the corn in. I understand it's a gamble, and I'm taking a gambler's chance. If the river rises and floods the corn in June, or July, then we get nothing this season?”
“That is a possibility,” admitted Hiram.
“Go ahead,” exclaimed Mother Atterson. “I never did know that there was sporting blood in me; but I kinder feel it risin', Hi, with the sap in the trees. We'll chance it!”
Occasionally Hiram had stepped down to the pasture and squinted across to the water-hole. The grass was not long enough yet to turn the cow into the field, so he was obliged to make these special trips to the pasture.