inging round the big
straw-stack that faced the open shed, and was flanked on the right by
the cow-stable and hog-pen, and on the left by the horse-stable, came to
a full stop at their own stable door.

"Thomas, you take Hughie into the house to get warm, till I unhitch,"
said Billy Jack, with the feeling that courtesy to the minister's son
demanded this attention. But Hughie, rejecting this proposition with
scorn, pushed Thomas aside and set himself to unhitch the S-hook on the
outside trace of the nigh bay. It was one of Hughie's grievances, and
a very sore point with him, that his father's people would insist
on treating him in the privileged manner they thought proper to his
father's son, and his chief ambition was to stand upon his own legs
and to fare like other boys. So he scorned Billy Jack's suggestion, and
while some of the children scurried about the stacks for a little romp
before setting off for their homes, which some of them, for the sake of
the ride, had left far behind, Hughie devoted himself to the unhitching
of the team with Billy Jack. And so quick was he in his movements,
and so fearless of the horses, that he had his side unhitched and was
struggling with the breast-strap before Billy Jack had finished with his
horse.

"Man! you're a regular farmer," said Billy Jack, admiringly, "only
you're too quick for the rest of us."

Hughie, still struggling with the breast-strap, found his heart swell
with pride. To be a farmer was his present dream.

"But that's too heavy for you," continued Billy Jack. "Here, let down
the tongue first."

"Pshaw!" said Hughie, disgusted at his exhibition of ignorance, "I knew
that tongue ought to come out first, but I forgot."

"Oh, well, it's just as good that way, but not quite so easy," said
Billy Jack, with doubtful consistency.

It took Hughie but a few minutes after the tongue was let down to
unfasten his end of the neck-yoke and the cross-lines, and he was
beginning at his hame-strap, always a difficult buckle, when Billy Jack
called out, "Hold on there! You're too quick for me. We'll make them
carry their own harness into the stable. Don't believe in making a horse
of myself." Billy Jack was something of a humorist.

The Finch homestead was a model of finished neatness. Order was its law.
Outside, the stables, barns, stacks, the very wood-piles, evidenced that
law. Within, the house and its belongings and affairs were perfect
in their harmonious arrangemen