The unmistakable shrewd look of the bargainer came suddenly into the man's face, but when I went about my business without hesitation or questioning, he said nothing at all. As for the boy, the change in his countenance was marvellous to see. Something new and astonishing had come into the world. Oh, I know what a thing it is to be a boy and to work in trouting time!
“How near are you planting, Ben?” I asked.
“About fourteen inches.”
So we began in fine spirits. I was delighted with the favourable beginning of my enterprise; there is nothing which so draws men together as their employment at a common task.
Ben was a lad some fifteen years old-very stout and stocky, with a fine open countenance and a frank blue eye—all boy. His nose was as freckled as the belly of a trout. The whole situation, including the prospect of help in finishing a tiresome job, pleased him hugely. He stole a glimpse from time to time at me then at his father. Finally he said:
“Say, you'll have to step lively to keep up with dad.”
“I'll show you,” I said, “how we used to drop potatoes when I was a boy.”
And with that I began to step ahead more quickly and make the pieces fairly fly.
“We old fellows,” I said to the father, “must give these young sprouts a lesson once in a while.”
“You will, will you?” responded the boy, and instantly began to drop the potatoes at a prodigious speed. The father followed with more dignity, but with evident amusement, and so we all came with a rush to the end of the row.