"A-fishing."
"I wish I could go."
"So do I. I'd like company."
"Where are you goin to fish?"
"In a brook close by, down at the bottom of this field."
"I'll go and look on a minute or two. I guess there isn't any hurry about them potatoes."
The minute or two lengthened to an hour and a half, when Sam roused himself from his idle mood, and shouldering his hoe started for the field where he had been set to work.
It was full time. The deacon was there before him, surveying with angry look the half-dozen hills, which were all that his young assistant had thus far hoed.
"Now there'll be a fuss," thought Sam, and he was not far out in that calculation.