ike you and me.

"Can't write more now because a man wants to talk to me--at least
he is ringing my telephone bell and won't stop. Love to you and
Mother from--DADDY."

Whenever Sunny Boy was pleased he made a little song to sing. He did so
now, skipping out to the garden where Grandpa was generally to be found.

"Daddy's coming! Daddy's coming! Next week! Pretty soon," sang Sunny Boy
to a tune of his own. "Jimmie, where's Grandpa? Daddy's coming next week,
pretty soon!"

"Well don't walk all over the cabbage plants if he is," said Jimmie, who
was busy and did not like to be interrupted. "I think your grandfather is
down with Mr. Sites looking at the mowing machine. They're down in the
south meadow."

Sunny Boy knew his way about the farm as well as Jimmie by this time. He
knew the pretty brown cow, Mrs. Butterball and her long legged calf,
Butterette; and he was fast friends with Peter and Paul and the dogs.
Sunny had named his puppy Brownie. He knew most of the chickens and ducks
by names of his own, and he had held a little squirmy lamb in his arms
for a minute, with Jimmie helping. He was going fishing, when Daddy came;
and he was going up into the woods the first time some one had a moment
to take him. Then he would have been all over the farm.

Still singing to himself, he trotted down to the south meadow and found
Grandpa and a strange man talking earnestly together.

"Look out! Stay where you are!" called the strange man suddenly. "Back,
Bruce, back!"

Sunny Boy stopped instantly. So did Bruce, who had followed him. Neither
the little boy nor the dog could see why they should be shouted at, but
they obeyed without question. And in a minute they saw a very good reason
why. The stranger talking to Grandpa bent down and lifted a handle on a
queer looking machine, and right out of the grass--where no one could
have seen it--rose a long ugly thing that looked like a big saw.

"All right, Sunny Boy!" called Grandpa.

"What is it?" asked Sunny, eyeing the long saw curiously.

"It's the mowing machine. We're going to cut hay with it presently,"
answered Grandpa. "Sites, this is Harry's son."

Mr. Sites shook hands with Sunny Boy, smiling down at him cheerfully.

"You don't say!" he drawled. "Well, youngster, your father and I went to
school together. When's he coming up? I'd like to see him again."

"Daddy's coming next week, pretty soon," sang Sunny Boy, capering about
the mowing machine joyously.