fraid of her!"

The farmer was a kindly, depressed man, with whose quiet ways Jacob
instantly felt himself at home. They worked steadily until sunset, when
the girl, detaching her horses from the machine, mounted one of them and
led the other to the barn. At the supper-table, the farmer's wife said:
"Susan, you must be very tired."

"Not now, mother!" she cheerily answered. "I was, I think, but after I
picked up Jacob I felt sure we should get our hay in."

"It was a good thing," said the farmer; "Jacob don't need to be told how
to work."

Poor Jacob! He was so happy he could have cried. He sat and listened,
and blushed a little, with a smile on his face which it was a pleasure
to see. The honest people did not seem to regard him in the least as a
stranger; they discussed their family interests and troubles and hopes
before him, and in a little while it seemed as if he had known them
always.

How faithfully he worked! How glad and tired he felt when night came,
and the hay-mow was filled, and the great stacks grew beside the barn!
But ah! the haying came to an end, and on the last evening, at supper,
everybody was constrained and silent. Even Susan looked grave and
thoughtful.

"Jacob," said the farmer, finally, "I wish we could keep you until wheat
harvest; but you know we are poor, and can't afford it. Perhaps you
could--"

He hesitated; but Jacob, catching at the chance and obeying his own
unselfish impulse, cried: "Oh, yes, I can; I'll be satisfied with my
board, till the wheat's ripe."

Susan looked at him quickly, with a bright, speaking face. "It's hardly
fair to you," said the farmer.

"But I like to be here so much!" Jacob cried. "I like--all of you!"

"We DO seem to suit," said the farmer, "like as one family. And that
reminds me, we've not heard your family name yet."

"Flint."

"Jacob FLINT!" exclaimed the farmer's wife, with sudden agitation.

Jacob was scared and troubled. They had heard of him, he thought, and
who knew what ridiculous stories? Susan noticed an anxiety on his face
which she could not understand, but she unknowingly came to his relief.

"Why, mother," she asked, "do you know Jacob's family?"

"No, I think not," said her mother, "only somebody of the name, long
ago."

His offer, however, was gratefully accepted. The bright, hot summer days
came and went, but no flower of July ever opened as rapidly and richly
and warmly as his chilled, retarded nature. New thoughts and i