No sooner had he raised the cloth than his eyes rested on an envelope.
“‘Mr. Phil Porter,’” he read. “Funny that should be in my basket. Wonder who he is?” With a growl Phil snatched the envelope, while Ted grinned: “Better let me drive. Your poor head will ache so in a minute you won’t be able to see the road.”
CHAPTER XXX
A SERIES OF UNPLEASANT SURPRISES
By tacit and mutual consent, when the young homesteaders arrived at their section, they made no mention of their terrible experience, and setting out some of Joy’s food, ate ravenously.
“We ought to be able to clear and plow one field this afternoon,” said Phil, when the last dish was wiped and put away.
Readily the younger boy agreed, and hitching the blacks to the plow, they were soon at the clearing, which looked as though it were pockmarked, the surface was so pitted with holes where the brush had been blown out.
“We’ll save time by dragging with an iron rail, the way Mr. Jay told us, instead of trying to plow this scrub growth and grass under,” declared Ted. Accordingly they took the whiffle-trees and some chains from the plow, returned to camp, hitched on to the rail the aged settler had loaned them, drew it to the clearing, where they quickly made a horse fast to each end.
“Ready?” called Phil.
“Ready,” answered his brother.