"Unquestionably," rejoined he, promptly. "As well say that Spring is the farmer's happiest season. He has the pleasures of hope, the delight of viewing his whitening harvests in futuro; but there is severe, unromantic drudgery; suspense and boding fears for the result. The 'harvest home' for me!"
"And when is that!" questioned Ida.
"Now!" said he, with emphasis.
"What do you mean?" inquired Carry.
"That you and Miss Ida begin to reap from this date. To dispense with this inconvenient metaphor, your actions will be the proof of what your lessons have been; every day your knowledge and principles will be brought into play,—you will be binding up sheaves of worthy or of evil deeds."
"You are trying to terrify us," said Carry. "Don't you wish yourself at school again, Ida!"
"Are you sorry you're a-goin' to turn out!" replied Ida, in a peculiar tone.
"Oh, Celestia!" exclaimed Carry, with a burst of laughter.
"Who? what?" said her father.