"I'm tired," answered the freckled-faced lad.
"Tired? Lazy, you mean! Git to work, or I'll have your paw give you a dressin' down!"
"Drat the luck!" muttered Sammy, as he took up his pitchfork. "I wish I was born in the city!"
"Come on, Sammy," said Randy. "The work has got to be done, so don't think about it, but do it."
"Huh! Work is easy to you, Randy Thompson! But it comes hard on me!" And Sammy heaved a ponderous sigh.
The haying was in full blast early in July and Randy worked early and late. He wanted to get through, so that he might go at his own garden. Sammy dragged worse than ever, and finally confided to our hero that he wanted to go to the city over the Fourth.
"Have you asked your folks yet?" asked Randy.
"No, but I'm a-goin' to," answered Sammy.
"Well, if you go, I hope you have a good time," said our hero. "I'd like to see a Fourth of July in the city myself. I've heard they make a good deal of noise, but I shouldn't mind that."
"Gosh! I love shootin'," said Sammy.