Hidden Treasures | Page 5

is so
big and strong that he never gets tired and doesn't know when to quit,
and he expects every one else to work just as hard and as long as he
does. Besides," she added, "I don't think he'll want HIS wife to spoil
her nice white hands."

"What's her name?" inquired Bob, not in the least worried by his
grandmother's gloomy predictions.
"Betsy Atwood--but your uncle calls her Bettie," replied his
grandmother.
"Aunt Bettie," repeated Bob. "A pretty name!"
"H'm!" sniffed his grandmother. "I'm certainly glad you like it, and I
hope you'll like her as well--it will help to make the work seem easier
to you."
"Why, there's grandfather and Uncle Joe now," said Bob a moment
later, as he glanced through the kitchen window toward the barn, and
catching up his cap he rushed out to greet them.
Joe Williams was a typical farmer, tall, deep-chested and straight as an
arrow. He stood six feet in his stockings and weighed two hundred and
ten pounds, and could toss a barrel of salt on the tailboard of a wagon
without losing his happy smile. He was twenty-seven years old, and
there was not a farmer in the county who could beat him at feats of
strength or endurance, and few indeed who could keep pace with him.
He had black hair and blue eyes. Books had little attraction for him-- he
loved to be in the open, for which his great size and strength seemed to
fit him. He had received little education beyond the country school,
unless could be counted the two years he had spent working on farms
in the great West, where he probably would have stayed had it not been
for the brown eyes of Bettie Atwood and an offer from his father, now
old and failing in health, to sell him the old place at his own terms.
"Hello, Bob!" he called as his nephew came forward, "sorry we missed
you. The bus driver said you'd left on foot for the farm when you didn't
see us around. How've you been lately?"
"Oh, I'm all right," replied Bob.
"Hello, grandfather!" he called, as he went round to the side of the
wagon to greet his grandfather.

"You don't seem to grow much, Bob," he laughed, as he shook hands.
"Cooped up too much in that grocery store--you need the open air of
the country to stretch you out. Just look at your Uncle Joe there--see
what the country has done for him."
"Oh, I'll grow all right, grandfather. I like the country and the open-air
life, too, and father says I may take up farming work if I want to."
The team was soon put away, and shortly after supper Bob, too sleepy
to keep his eyes open, went to bed.

II
A DAY'S WORK
"Bob! Bob! Time to get up and do your chores."
The sleepy boy rolled over, rubbed his eyes and sat up, trying to
remember where he was and who was calling him; then he recognized
the voice of his uncle, and jumped quickly out of bed.
"All right, Uncle Joe, I'm coming," he answered, as he felt around in
the dark for his clothes, for he had neglected to provide himself with
matches to light the oil lamp that stood near by on the dresser.
His clothes were simple, and getting up before dawn was no new
experience for him. A few moments later he hurried down to the
kitchen, where his uncle, who had just finished stirring the kitchen fire,
was filling the tea-kettle.
"Well!--are you up for all day, Bob?" he inquired cheerily.
"I will be as soon as I get awake," he answered, as he started for the
rain barrel for water to wash.
As the water in the well was hard, rain water was used for washing,
except in winter, when the barrels were frozen solidly. The early spring

rains had filled the barrels again, but as the night had been cold, ice had
frozen over the top. His uncle had been to the barrel ahead of him and
broken the ice, so he dipped up the basin full of water, and placing it on
a bench on the porch, washed his face and hands.
Above the wash bench, summer and winter, hung the roller towel, and
near by the mirror and family horn comb. In the dark the mirror was of
doubtful use, but with a few well-directed strokes of the comb he
managed to get a semblance, at least, of neatness to his hair. He
shivered a little as he finished--just as his uncle appeared, milk pails
and lantern in hand.
"I want you to do the milking from now on, Bob, for it's not the kind of
work a woman should do,"