"I'm afraid that's so," said Harding. "And now we'll make a start again."
The ribbed wheels bit the clods, and the engine lurched clumsily across the furrows, with the harrows clattering as they tore through the tangled grass roots and scattered the dry soil. Harding was violently shaken, and Devine half smothered by the dust that followed them across the breaking. It was not a dainty task, and the machine was far from picturesque, but they were doing better work than the finest horses at Allenwood were capable of. The sun grew steadily hotter, the lower half of Harding's body was scorched by the furnace, and the perspiration dripped from his forehead upon his greasy overalls, but he held on until noon, with the steam gradually going down. The boiler was of the water-tube type and the water about Allenwood was alkaline.
"She must hold up until supper, and I'll try to wash her out afterward," he said.
"You were at it half last night," Devine objected.
"That's the penalty for using new tools. They have their tricks, and you've got to learn them. I don't find you get much without taking trouble."
"I believe you're fond of trouble," Devine answered, laughing.
They went home together, for Devine often dined with the Hardings. They had just finished the meal of salt pork and fried potatoes when there was a rattle of wheels. Hester was putting the dessert—hot cakes soaked in molasses—and coffee on the table, but she went to the door.
"A stranger in a buggy!" she announced.
Harding was surprised to see the Winnipeg land-agent getting down, but he greeted him hospitably.
"Come in and have some dinner," he invited.