the party.

The orphan looked wistfully after the wagon as Hiram drove out of
the yard. Then she turned, with trembling lip, to Mother Atterson:
"She--she's awfully pretty," she said, "and Hiram likes her. But
she--they're all proud, and I guess they don't think much of folks like
us, after all."

"Shucks, Sister! we're just good as they be, every bit," returned Mrs.
Atterson, bruskly.

"I know; mebbe we be," admitted Sister, slowly. "But it don't feel so."

And perhaps Hiram had some such thought, too, after he had driven the
girls to the big boarding school in Scoville. For they all got out
without even thanking him or bidding him good-bye--all save Lettie.

"Really, we are a thousand times obliged to you, Hiram Strong," she
said, in her very best manner, and offering him her hand. "As the girls
were my guests I felt I must get them home again safely--and you were
indeed a friend in need."

But then she spoiled it utterly, by adding:

"Now, how much do I owe you, Hiram?" and took out her purse. "Is two
dollars enough?" This put Hiram right in his place. He saw plainly that,
friendly as the Bronsons were, they did not look upon a common farm-boy
as their equal--not in social matters, at least.

"I could not take anything for doing a neighbor a favor, Miss Bronson,"
said Hiram, quietly. "Thank you. Good-day."

Hiram drove back home feeling quite as depressed as Sister, perhaps.
Finally he said to himself:

"Well, some day I'll show 'em!"

After that he put the matter out of his mind and refused to be troubled
by thoughts of Lettie Bronson, or her attitude toward him.

Spring was advancing apace now. Every day saw the development of bud,
leaf and plant. Slowly the lowland was cleared and the brush and roots
were heaped in great piles, ready for the torch.

Hiram could not depend upon this six acres as their only piece of
corn, however. There was the four-acre lot between the barnyard and the
pasture in which he proposed to plant the staple crop.

He drew out the remainder of the coarse manure and spread it upon this
land, as far as it would go. For enriching the remainder of the corn
crop he would have to depend upon a commercial fertilizer. He drew, too,
a couple of tons of lime to be used on this corn land, and left it in
heaps to slake.

And then, out of the clear sky of their progress, came a bolt as
unexpected as could be. They had been less than a month upon the farm.
Uncle Jeptha had not been in