“You can stay around and talk, if you want to,” conceded Jimmie. “It’s kind of lonesome working all alone. But, Sunny, honestly I can’t mend this fence if you are going to sit on it and wiggle.”
Sunny slid down hastily.
“I didn’t know I was wiggling,” he apologized. “Do you learn to mend fence at agri—agri—”
“Agricultural college?” supplied Jimmie. “No, I guess that comes natural. Will you hand me one of those long nails, please?”
Sunny handed the nail absently. He was thinking of other things.
“Are you a farmer like Grandpa, Jimmie?” he asked.
Jimmie finished pounding in his nail before he answered.
“Seems like I tinker up this section of fence every other week,” he confided. “Am I a farmer like your grandpa? Well, no, not yet, but I aim to be. You thinking of farming, too?”
Sunny considered this gravely.
“I might be a farmer,” he admitted. “Only I think I would rather be a postman. Could I, Jimmie?”