hoe turnips and tie wheat as well as he can play
the pipes and throw the hammer," said Perkins to the others as they
followed in the rear, "I guess he'd soon have us all leaning against the
fence to dry."

"He will, too, some day," said Tim, whose indignation at Perkins
overcame the shyness which usually kept him silent in the presence of
older men.

"Hello, Timmy! What are you chipping in for?" said Perkins, reaching for
the boy's coat collar. "He thinks this Scotty is the whole works, and he
is great too--at showing people how to do things."

"I hear he showed Tim how to hoe turnips," said one of the boys slyly.
The laugh that followed showed that the story of Tim's triumph over the
champion had gone abroad.

"Oh, rot!" said Perkins angrily. "Tim's got a little too perky because I
let him get ahead of me one night in a drill of turnips."

"Yeh done yer best, didn't he, Webster?" cried Tim with indignation.

"Well, he certainly was making some pretty big gashes in them drills,"
said Webster slowly.

"Oh, get out!" replied Perkins. "Though all the same Tim's quite a
turnip-hoer," he conceded. "Hello! There's quite a crowd in the barn,
Danny. I wish I had my store clothes on."

At this a girl came running to meet them.

"Come on, Danny! Tune up. I can hardly keep my heels on my boots."

"Oh, you'll not be wanting my little fiddle after you have heard Cameron
on the pipes, Isa."

"Never you fear that, Danny," replied Isa, catching him by the arm and
hurrying him onward.

"Wait a minute. I want you to meet Mr. Cameron," said Danny.

"Come away, then," replied Isa. "I am dying to get done with it and get
the fiddle going."

But Cameron was in the meantime engaged, for Mack was busy introducing
him to a bevy of girls who stood at one corner of the barn floor.

"My! but he's a braw lad!" said Isa gayly, as she watched Cameron making
his bows.

"Yes, he is that," replied Danny with enthusiastic admiration, "and a
hammer-thrower, too, he is."

"What! yon stripling?"

"You may say it. He can beat Mack there."

"Mack!" cried Isa, with scorn. "It's just big lies you are telling me."

"Indeed, he has beaten Mack's best throw many a time."

"And how do you know?" exclaimed Isa.

"He said so himself."

"Ah ha!" said Isa scornfully. "He is good at blowing his own horn
whatever, and I don't believe he can beat Mack--and I don't like him a
bit," she continued, her dark eyes flashing and the red colour glow