"If you want to know so badly, Bob, why don't you take a pick and shovel and dig out a yard, and find out for yourself," suggested his grandmother.
"Yes," said his uncle, "then you'd know what a real backache feels like."
"All right," said Bob, "when may I do it?" turning to his uncle.
"Well, I suppose you might as well do it this morning as any time," said his uncle. "I know you won't be able to sleep to-night until you find out; besides, I'm going to town and you can have the forenoon off."
"That'll be fine, Uncle Joe," said Bob, "and there's another thing too, I wanted to ask you. I see wagons hauling sand and gravel from our pit. Who collects the money and how much do you charge them?"
"Charge a neighbor for a few loads of sand, Bob? What are you talking about? Of course not."
"But if you went to their farms, Uncle Joe, and asked for the rich soil out of their fields, they'd make you pay for it."
"Why, of course, Bob, but rich soil and sand and gravel are different.
There's plenty of sand and gravel."
"Where, Uncle Joe?"
"Oh, everywhere."