“You mean you can come to Crossways?”
“I do. It just so happens that I can spare a few days right now. Besides, I’d like to meet the fellows you are always writing about—Tom and Ned—and see the place where you grew that big crop of corn last summer.”
Mr. Hazard was as good as his word. The same night found him installed in the colonial house from which the great plantation of Crossways had formerly been managed. Now the plantation was a thing of memory only. Only the house and comparatively few cultivated acres remained of the once proud estate. Edward Moseley, the last of a long line, kept a school, which, primarily started for the benefit of his tenants’ children, had become so famous that boys from all parts of the country were now enrolled.
The summer before, when Mr. Hazard found that it was necessary for him to make a trip abroad, he had left Bob at Crossways; and to make things pleasanter he had sent down a canoe, giving it to Tom Wickham and Ned Moseley, Bob’s chums. Therefore, when he appeared in person, Tom and Ned were prepared to like him. They were not disappointed.
When he demanded it the boys showed him the island in the low grounds on which they had grown the test crop of corn.
“It seems to me that you fellows hit on a really excellent plan to occupy your time during the summer. Who thought of it?” he asked after examining the plot.
“Tom,” said Ned quickly. “He planned it and we did the work.”
“I reckon I did my share of the work too,” exploded Tom. When the laugh died down, Mr. Hazard went on with his questions.
“Are you going to plant it again this year?”
“Not this piece, sir,” answered Tom. “I’ve got all I can do helping my father. When we raised more than double the average yield of his fields on our little patch here, he decided that there was something in modern farming methods after all, so this year we’re putting all our corn in as it should be! And we’re going to have some crop, too!”