apers?"

"They're not needed. The only use of signed papers is to show ye
have given your word," said Rolf, quoting his mother, with rising
indignation.

The trader sniffed a little contemptuously and said nothing. But he
realized the value of a lad who was a steady, intelligent worker,
wouldn't drink, and was absolutely bound by a promise; so, after awhile,
he said: "Wall, if Van don't want ye now, come back for a couple of
weeks."

Early in the morning Rolf gathered the trifles he had secured for the
little children and the book he had bought for Annette, a sweet story of
a perfect girl who died and went to heaven, the front embellished with a
thrilling wood-cut. Then he crossed the familiar five-mile portage at a
pace that in an hour brought him to the lake.

The greeting at Van's was that of a brother come home.

"Vell, Rolf, it's goood to see ye back. It's choost vat I vented. Hi,
Marta, I told it you, yah. I say, now I hope ze good Gott send Rolf.
Ach, how I am shpoil!"

Yes, indeed. The hay was ready; the barley was changing. So Rolf took
up his life on the farm, doing work that a year before was beyond his
strength, for the spirit of the hills was on him, with its impulse of
growth, its joy in effort, its glory in strength. And all who saw the
longlegged, long-armed, flat-backed youth plying fork or axe or hoe, in
some sort ventured a guess: "He'll be a good 'un some day; the kind o'
chap to keep friendly with.

Chapter 56. The Sick Ox

The Thunder Moon passed quickly by; the hay was in; the barley partly
so. Day by day the whitefaced oxen toiled at the creaking yoke, as the
loads of hay and grain were jounced cumbrously over roots and stumps of
the virgin fields. Everything was promising well, when, as usual, there
came a thunderbolt out of the clear sky. Buck, the off ox, fell sick.

Those who know little about cattle have written much of the meek and
patient ox. Those who know them well tell us that the ox is the "most
cussedest of all cussed" animals; a sneak, a bully, a coward, a thief,
a shirk, a schemer; and when he is not in mischief he is thinking
about it. The wickedest pack mule that ever bucked his burden is a
pinfeathered turtle-dove compared with an average ox. There are
some gentle oxen, but they are rare; most are treacherous, some are
dangerous, and these are best got rid of, as they mislead their yoke
mates and mislay their drivers. Van's two oxen, Buck and Bright,
manifested th