"Very well; carry some drink to the men. I will get it for you."
Mr. Royden went to the well, drew up a dripping bucket of clear, cold water, drank from the mossy rim on the curb, and afterwards filled a stone jug.
Carrying this, Chester went to the field with gloves on, and his cravat looped loosely about his neck.
Hepsy's tender eyes beheld the young man as he went through the orchard. How handsome he looked, in his tow trousers, straw hat and snowy shirt-sleeves! To her mind, nothing became him so well as his farmer's rig; and as he disappeared over the hill, she clasped her hands with intense emotion, and wept.
"I'm tired just about to death!" said Sam, pretending that he could with difficulty get the crank around. "Them men bore on all they could, only to make it hard for me. But Ches was worse than either on 'em."
"Pshaw! turn away!"
"And then Ches was going to lick me."
"No, he was not. Chester would not hurt you," said Mr. Royden. "Come, come! turn faster."
"I can't!" groaned Sam. "But he was going to; that's what he cut this switch for."
"Well, I shall have to use it in his place, if you don't stop talking, and work better," replied Mr. Royden, with good-natured impatience.