Richard grinned and Warren's gray eyes smiled.
"Well, I hope you'll tumble up early in the morning," observed the farmer, his mind busy already with the next day's work. "We're going to start picking tomatoes for the cannery."
There wasn't much thrill about the persistent ringing of the alarm clock the next morning and Jack turned over with a groan. The dial said five o'clock, though he was sure he had not been asleep longer than two hours.
"Morning," was Mr. Hildreth's brief greeting when he met his new hand at the back door. "Glad to see you made it. Warren's your boss—he knows what has to be done. You'll find him out in the barn, milking."
Even a careless observer—and Jack was not that—would have been struck with the dewy freshness of the grass and shrubbery and the magnificent splendor of the Eastern sky; and Jack, on his way to the barn, drew a deep breath of something like contentment.
"Not so bad," he thought, beginning to whistle. "Not so bad, after all."
Warren glanced up from his milking, his eyes cordial, his busy hands continuing their task.
"Mr. Hildreth said you're my boss," said Jack directly. "What do you want me to do?"
"You can't milk, can you?" replied Warren. "No, of course, you haven't been around cows. Richard is feeding and cleaning the horses—you might help him."
Jack was inclined to remember the remark Sarah had attributed to Richard, but five minutes spent in that cheerful youth's company were enough to dispel any faint resentment he might feel. Richard liked to chatter and he liked to sing and whistle; and while he showed Jack what constituted a proper breakfast for a horse and how these useful beasts should be groomed, he kept up a running fire of comment and good-natured musical effort that made up in volume what it lacked in depth. By the time Warren's pails were full and the barn work done, the three boys were on a friendly footing and they marched into breakfast to the tune of "There Were Three Crows Sat in a Tree."