“And what do you play, Tim?” asked Cameron, seeking a point of contact with the boy.
“Nothin',” said Tim shortly. “No time.”
“Don't you go to school?”
“Yes, in fall and winter. Then we play ball and shinny some, but there ain't much time.”
“But you can't work all the time, Tim? What work can you do?”
“Oh!” replied Tim carelessly, “I run a team.”
“Run a team? What do you mean?”
Tim glanced up at him and, perceiving that he was quite serious, proceeded to explain that during the spring's work he had taken his place in the plowing and harrowing with the “other” men, that he expected to drive the mower and reaper in haying and harvest, that, in short, in almost all kinds of farm work he was ready to take the place of a grown man; and all this without any sign of boasting.
Cameron thought over his own life, in which sport had filled up so large a place and work so little, and in which he had developed so little power of initiative and such meagre self-dependence, and he envied the solemn-faced boy at his side, handling his team and wagon with the skill of a grown man.
“I say, Tim!” he exclaimed in admiration, “you're great. I wish I could do half as much.”