CHAPTER VI
Thirty Thousand a Year
'Ah, for a man to arise in me,
That the man I am may cease to be.'
'I should think we might get the bag of corn now, eh, Bart?' Cameron wiped his brow, and stopped to survey the patch of ground that looked so smooth.
Bart looked at it critically.
'I think we'd better give it another turn, dad,' he said, and hitched the string-mended harness a little more securely to the jaded horse. 'It's such a lunatic plough, it misses twice for every time it hits.'
Cameron looked at the wide space of ground to be gone over yet again.
'I'm very anxious to get the corn in,' he said. 'You see, we're a month late as it is, and it will be a big saving in feed when we have it to cut.'
'Yes; but it is no good unless the ground is ready,' Bart said. 'We have no manure or anything like the Journal says. We'd better give it an extra turn.'
'You're quite right, quite right, my boy,' Cameron said, and led his horse on again, up and down, up and down the furrows.