ck, if you
don't work smarter!"

"Can't!" muttered Sam. "'Most dead. Han't done nothing but turn
grindstone since sunrise. Didn't eat no breakfast, nuther."

The grinding apparatus stood under an apple-tree, behind the house. The
spot was retired, offering conveniences for the adjustment of private
differences; and Chester, who did not return to farm labor, after being
so long at school, in very good humor, quietly clipped a thin green
sapling from the roots of the tree.

"I haven't settled with you for the caper you cut up with Frank, the
other night," he said, between his teeth. "Now go to work, and hold your
tongue, or I'll make you wish the horse had run with you to the end of
the world, and jumped off!"

"Better not hit me with that!" muttered Sam, growing desperate.

"Will you turn the grindstone?"

There was something dangerous in the flash of Chester's eye, and Sam was
afraid to disobey. A minute later, he was glad to see Mr. Royden coming
through the orchard, with his hat in his hand, and his sweaty brow
exposed to the summer breeze.

"I am afraid you don't know how to grind a tool," said he, smiling
indulgently, as he examined the edge of the scythe.

"I will go and mow in your place, if you will finish it," replied
Chester.

"Very well; carry some drink to the men. I will get it for you."

Mr. Royden went to the well, drew up a dripping bucket of clear, cold
water, drank from the mossy rim on the curb, and afterwards filled a
stone jug.

Carrying this, Chester went to the field with gloves on, and his cravat
looped loosely about his neck.

Hepsy's tender eyes beheld the young man as he went through the orchard.
How handsome he looked, in his tow trousers, straw hat and snowy
shirt-sleeves! To her mind, nothing became him so well as his farmer's
rig; and as he disappeared over the hill, she clasped her hands with
intense emotion, and wept.

"I'm tired just about to death!" said Sam, pretending that he could with
difficulty get the crank around. "Them men bore on all they could, only
to make it hard for me. But Ches was worse than either on 'em."

"Pshaw! turn away!"

"And then Ches was going to lick me."

"No, he was not. Chester would not hurt you," said Mr. Royden. "Come,
come! turn faster."

"I can't!" groaned Sam. "But he _was_ going to; that's what he cut this
switch for."

"Well, I shall have to use it in his place, if you don't stop talking,
and work better," replied Mr. Royden,