el, I'd say," Thaine declared. "Why
didn't you go to the census report of 1890, or Radway's Ready Relief
Almanac, or the Unabridged Dictionary?"

"All right, you despiser of small things. It was just an agricultural
report full of tables and statistics and comparative values and things
that I happened on one day when things were looking blackest, and right in
the middle I found a page that Foster Dwight Coburn must have put in just
for me, I guess. There was a little sketch of an alfalfa plant with its
long good roots, and just one paragraph beside it with the title, 'The
Silent Subsoiler.'"

"That sounds well," Thaine observed. He was listening eagerly in spite of
his joking, and his mind was alert to the girl's project.

"Mr. Coburn said," Leigh went on, "that there are some silent subsoilers
that do their work with ease and as effectually as any plow ever hitched,
and the great one of these is alfalfa; that it is a reservoir of wealth
that takes away the fear of protest and over-draft."

"Well, and what if Coburn is right?" Thaine queried.

"Listen, now. I planned how I'd get back that old claim of Uncle Jim's;
how I'd pay some money down and borrow the rest, and begin seeding it to
alfalfa. Then I'll churn and feed chickens and make little sketches of
water lilies, maybe, and pay the interest and let the alfalfa pay off the
principal. I haven't any father or mother, Thaine; Uncle Jim is all I
have. He hasn't always been successful in business ventures, but he's
always been honest. He has nothing to blush for, nothing to keep hidden. I
know we'll win now, for that writing of Foster Dwight Coburn's is true.
Don't try to discourage me, Thaine," she looked up with shining eyes.

"You are a silent little subsoiler yourself, Leigh, doing your work
effectually. Of course you'll win, you brave girl. I wish it was a
different kind of work, though."

A low peal of thunder rolled up from the darkening horizon, and the sun
disappeared behind the advancing clouds.

"That's our notice to quit the premises. I shouldn't want to ford Little
Wolf in a storm. It is ugly enough any time and was bank full when I took
Rosie Posie over this morning. And say, her mother's got a face like a
brass bedstead."

Thaine was lifting the buggy top as he spoke. Suddenly he exclaimed:

"Oh, Leigh, look down yonder."

He pointed down the little rift toward the water.

"Where?" Leigh asked, looking in the direction of his hand.

"Across